1 


V    \. 


COMMODORE  PERRY'S  JAPAN  EXPEDITION. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 

3<te  SB  348  ZBiRCXA-iDWArz" 

HAVE  JUST  PUBLISHED, 

i^arratifre  d  i\t  fe^Mticn  of 
System  10  %  C|hta  j&egs  &  fapn, 

Performed  in  the  Years  1852, 1853,  and  1854, 

By  order  of  the  Government  of  the  United  States,  under  the  Command  of  Commodore 
M.  C.  Perry,  U.&2T. 

Compiled  from" the  Original  Notes  and  Journals  of  Commodore  Perry, 

AT  HIS  BEQUEST,  AND  UNDER  HIS  SUPERVISION. 

BY-FRANCIS    L.    HAWKS,    D.D. 

ONE  VOLUME  8vo.,  WITH  TWO.  HUNDRED  ENGRAVINGS  AND  CHARTS. 

Price  in  Cloth,  extra, $5  00      I     Price  in  Full  Calf, $7  00 

"      Hall' Morocco  or  Calf,  6  00     |  "         ««    Morocco, 800 


From  the  North  American  Review. 

"A  threefold  interest  attaches  to  this  work.  It  claims  emphatic  notice ^s  a  record 
of  national  enterprise;  it  forms  an  important  chapter  of  our  diplomatic  history  ;  and  it 
is  permanently  attractive  as  an  embodiment  of  scientific  facts.  With  such  a  degree 
and  kind  of  interest  as  the  basis  of  a  new  contribution  to  the  honorable  archives  of 
American  exploration,  we  cannot  but  congratulate  the  large  number  of  readers,  who, 
biased  by  one  or  another  of  the  special  claims  we  >  have  designated,  will  eagerly  peruse 
this  elegant  publication,  prepared,  as  it  has  been,  with  so  eminent  care,  judgment  and 
skill." 

From  the  N.  Y.  Daily  Times. 

"Rarely  has  a  Narrative  appeared  so  intelligible  in  all  points.  There  can  be  no 
mistake,  from  first  to  last,  as  to  the  meaning  of  a  single  sentence.  Every  thing  is 
definite  and  intelligible.  The  book  has  all  the  interest  of  romantic  fiction,  combined 
with  the  effect  of  incidents  of  actual  occurrence  and  great  novelty." 

From  the  Boston  Post. 

"Without  abating  one  jot  of  self-respect,  or  employing  one  particle  of  humbug,  tho 
American  Commodore  did  with  Japan  what  no  one  else  had  done  before.  He  and  his 
officers  were  straightforward  and  courteous  in  all  their  dealings  with  the  Japanese, 
and  the  digest  of  their  reports  and  other  documents  attests  their  intelligence  and 
education,  and  thereby  does  honor  to  the  country  of  which  they  were,  in  the  sight  of 
the  world,  the  able  and  successful  representatives." 

From  the  Boston  Journal. 

"It  is  a  book  which,  taken  as  a  whole,  will  give  much  pleasure  and  satisfaction, 
and,  being  copiously  illustrated  with  maps  and  engravings,  will  cultivate  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  public  with  the  geography  and  inhabitants  of  the  Japanese  Archipelago." 

From  the  Evening  Post. 

"The  negotiations  of  the  Commodore  with  the  Japanese  present  a  new  plan  of 
diplomacy,  and  the  book  abounds  with  notices,  throwing  light  on  tfae  social  and  moral 
character  of  the  Japanese,  and  their  political  and  religious  institutions.  There  were 
skilful  artists  accompanying  the  expedition,  and  the  illustrations  are  by  no  means  the 
least  interesting  part  of  the  book." 

From  the  Portland  Christian  Mirror. 

"  The  general  reader,  as  well  as  the  diplomat  and  naturalist,  *ill  be  both  interested 
and  instructed  in  matters  of  social  economy,  in  diplomacy,  and  in  science." 


HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR   OP 


"SOUVENIRS  OF  A  RESIDENCE  IN  EUROPE." 


And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise." 


NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

846   &   848   BROADWAY. 
1857. 


ENTBBKD  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


HAVING  promised  in  the  introductory  chapter 
of  this  volume  to  dispense  with  the  formality  of  a 
preface,  a  few  words,  not  meriting  so  grave  a  title, 
will  suffice  to  say  that  the  historical  personages 
who  appear  in  it  were  sketched  from  life,  that 
Victor's  destiny  is  recorded  in  the  annals  of  the 
startling  period  when  it  was  fulfilled,  and  that  the 
African  characters  are  real,  and  have  literally 
spoken  for  themselves. 

In  regard  to  all  the  other  characters,  while 
they  are  believed  to  be  true  to  nature,  and  were 
intended  to  represent  traits  and  dispositions  which 
are  not  unfrequently  met  with  in  real  life,  the 
writer  begs  to  enter  a  protest  against  the  identi- 
fication of  any  of  these  portraits,  not  belonging  to 
the  domain  of  public  history,  with  individual 
personages,  either  past  or  present. 


427640 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  I. 

II. 

UNCLE  TOM'S  FREEDOM  .... 

21 

III. 

29 

IV. 

ENGLISH  MANNERS  

39 

V. 

MODERN  ACCOMPLISHMENTS 

.       54 

VI. 

A  CHRISTMAS  PARTY       .... 

68 

VII. 

A  SHADE  ON  THE  PICTURE  . 

.       78 

VIII. 

A  BRIDAL       

87 

IX. 

THE  SCENE  CHANGES  .... 

.     100 

X. 

A  NOBLE  ARTIST     

115 

XL 

A  COURT  AND  A  MINIATURE  BALL 

.     132 

XII. 

REMINISCENCES  FOR  THE  DILETTANTI 

146 

XIII. 

"GOLD!  GOLD!   GOLD!"    . 

.     15G 

XIV. 

THE  PASTOR  AND  HIS  FAMILY 

170 

XV. 

A  MASQUERADE  ..... 

.     185 

XVI. 

THE  INCOGNITA      

195 

XVII. 

THE  CONFESSION                                     . 

.     206 

XVIII. 

THE  CARNIVAL       

216 

XIX. 

LONGCHAMPS 

,     233 

CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

XXL 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

xxvm. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

xxxm. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  . 

THE  ACCIDENT    .... 

THE  RESULT  OF  THE  PLOT 

A  LAST  FAREWELL 

ROYAL  DISGUISES 

NINA — A  CATASTROPHE 

A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE    . 

THE  VEILED  LADY 

AN  ADVENTURE 

AN  OASIS  IN  AN  AFRICAN  DESERT 

A  TORNADO    .... 

A  BRILLIANT  DESTINY 

AN  EXPLANATION    . 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  NUN  . 

THE  MEETING 

LOVE'S  GIFTS      .... 

CONCLUSION 


PAGE 

244 
25G 
270 
279 
289 
300 
313 
319 
327 
340 
354 
371 
378 
386 
394 
400 
406 


HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AVONMORE. 

TRUTH  is  often  more  marvellous  than  fiction,  and 
the  most  successful  writers  of  romance,  like  the  great 
painters  of  old,  owe  their  success  to  their  faithful  por- 
traiture of  nature  :  but  as  it  is  impossible  to  "  breathe 
the  breath  of  life"  into  either  pictures  or  romances,  it 
is  fair  to  place  the  lights  and  shadows  so  as  to  produce 
harmony  and  beauty,  and  if  for  the  sake  of  contrast 
some  of  the  shadows  are  very  dark  indeed,  and  some 
of  the  lights  are  almost  supernal,  we  should  not  pro- 
nounce the  picture  unnatural. 

The  divine  Raphael,  studied,  reproduced,  gazed 
at,  admired  and  loved,  unites  all  suffrages,  not  only 
because  he  is  true  to  nature,  but  because  he  repre- 
sents nature  in  her  loveliest  and  most  graceful  forms. 
The  writers  of  romance  would  do  well  to  remember 
that  while  the  pictures  of  Raphael,  always  bearing 
the  impress  of  the  "  beauty  of  holiness,"  are  still  of 
priceless  value,  and  counted  as  are  brilliants  among 
precious  stones,  works  of  equal  genius  but  of  debas- 
ing tendency  are  sinking  into  oblivion  and  contempt. 


HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

To  the  utilitarian  who  despises  both  the  pictures 
of  the  mind  and  the  pencil,  who  tramples  the  flowers 
scattered  in  our  daily  path  beneath  his  busy  feet, 
those  flowers  more  delicately  and  gorgeously  attired 
than  "  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,"  who  sees  in  the 
sparkling  stream  and  dashing  waterfall  only  the  re- 
quisite power  to  put  his  machinery  in  motion,  in  "  the 
moon  walking  in  brightness"  only  some  vague  indi- 
cation of  the  state  of  the  tide  that  brings  his  heavily 
freighted  ship  into  harbor,  in  even  the  glorious  sun- 
light only  economy  of  fuel  and  gas,  it  is  in  vain  to 
appeal.  To  such  we  would  only  send  a  collection  of 
the  choicest  and  freshest,  but  most  useless  flowers, 
with  a  copy  of  Dickens'  "  Hard  Times." 

The  lovers  of  the  ideal,  the  imaginative,  the  beau- 
tiful, have  their  warrant  in  those  parables  so  full  of 
pathos,  of  heavenly  wisdom,  of  sublime  grandeur. 
"  One  jot "  of  these  can  "  never  pass  away,"  and 
while  the  world  stands,  there  will  be  writers  and 
readers  of  works  of  imagination.  Let  these  works 
then,  like  the  steam  which  has  revolutionized  the 
world,  instead  of  being  suppressed,  receive  a  proper 
direction,  and  then — 

"  And  then,"  the  readers  of  my  story  are  ready 
to  exclaim,  "we  are  to  have  a  utilitarian  discourse 
on  this  mighty  theme  ! "  Patience,  gentle  friends ! 
this  was  only  the  preface  ;  but  knowing  from  expe- 
rience, how  little  favor  a  preface  finds  with  fair  read- 
ers, it  is  placed  at  the  beginning  of  the  first  chapter, 
that  you  may  not  skip  at  once  into  the  story,  without 
having  some  idea  of  what  you  may  encounter  in  your 
travels.  Yet  you  shall  not  be  taxed  too  heavily,  lest 


AVONMOKE.  9 

you  throw  the  volume  aside  altogether ;  so  now 
imagine  the  ouverture  completed,  the  Corypheus  low- 
ering his  baton  and  wiping  his  forehead,  and  the 
curtain  withdrawn  from  our  picture.  You  shall  find 
it  not  only  a  tableau  vivant,  but  a  tableau  parlant. 

Christmas  was  at  hand — the  blessed  season  that 
makes  cold  hearts  warm  and  old  hearts  young  ;  when 
thoughts  of  the  year  that  is  past  and  trembling  an- 
ticipation of  the  new  year  about  to  dawn,  are  alike 
merged  in  present  happiness :  when  to  those  who 
"  sit  in  darkness "  the  "  light  springs  up,"  when  the 
"  wise  and  noble,"  following  the  bright  star  of  the 
East,  offer  their  costly  gifts  as  of  old  at  the  Redeem- 
er's feet,  and  when  even  the  joyous  and  tender 
accents  of  childhood  are  heard  lisping  the  name  of 
the  babe  of  Bethlehem. 

How  and  when  this  season  of  thanksgiving  and 
joy  and  gladness  came  to  be  transferred  to  the  new 
year,  while  Christmas  often  passes  neglected  by,  with 
some  few  religious  observances,  too  often  alas  !  rather 
cold  and  heartless,  or  else  regarded  only  as  a  time  of 
holiday  and  good  cheer  for  the  poor  and  the  servants 
of  the  rich,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  "  The  tidings 
of  great  joy  "  were  proclaimed  to  all, — "  the  glory  " 
that  "  shone  around  "  was  sent  to  illumine  the  hearts 
and  the  dwellings  of  the  great  as  well  as  of  the  hum- 
ble. And  yet  the  cordial  greeting,  the  friendly 
embrace,  the  bright  smile  of  welcome,  are  now  re- 
served for  the  new  year  alone.  Sympathies,  gifts, 
letters,  visits,  all  the  gems  of  "  love's  shining  circle  " 
are  set  in  one  glittering  diadem  to  adorn  the  brow 
1* 


10  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

of  the  idolized  new  year.  Christmas,  the  life  and 
soul  of  both  new  and  old  year,  is  too  often  left  un- 
adorned, but  by  the  single  radiant  star  that  still  leads 
on  the  faithful,  while  the  fashion  of  this  world  places 
a  soulless  image  in  the  shrine  which  the  true  light 
should  illuminate. 

Such  innovations  had  found  no  favor  at  Avon- 
more,  the  country-seat  of  Mr.  Melville,  and  the 
present  scene  of  our  story.  Christmas  was  at  hand, 
and  the  inmates  of  the  old  home  were  busily  engaged 
in  preparations  for  the  festive  season. 

How  the  noble  hickory  wood  fires,  piled  up  with 
artistic  skill  in  the  wide  hearths,  blazed  and  sparkled  ! 
giving  out  not  only  their  genial  warmth,  but  a  light 
that  paled  the  wintry  sunbeams  stealing  in  through 
the  sheltering  crimson  curtains.  How  merrily  the 
sound  of  gay  young  voices  and  ringing  laughter 
echoed  through  the  great  hall,  as  the  finishing 
touches  were  put  to  the  decoration  of  the  Christmas 
tree  !  the  tree  of  golden  fruit  and  perennial  bloom, 
around  which  lay  so  many  bright  hopes,  so  many 
tender  and  loving  thoughts  of  home  ! 

But  this  mysterious  tree  with  its  garlands  and 
fruits  and  flowers,  was  carefully  screened  from  view 
until  the  blissful  moment  when  the  tiny  wax  tapers 
with  which  the  decorations  were  plentifully  inter- 
spersed should  blaze  forth,  and  give  its  glories  to  the 
wondering  eyes  and  eager  hands  of  the  admiring 
little  throng,  who  were  each  to  claim  a  portion  of  its 
treasures. 

If  a  tableau  vivant  had  been  wanting  in  the  pre- 
paration, as  it  was  expected  in  the  progress  of  the 


AVONMORE.  11 

fete,  a  prettier  one  could  not  have  been  devised  than 
the  group  clustered  around  that  Christmas  tree.  It 
was  properly  the  charge  of  little  Alice,  who  with  her 
friends  anticipated  the  chief  enjoyment  of  it ;  but 
her  efforts  would  have  been  unavailing  to  render  it 
worthy  of  her  friends  and  her  lovely  little  self,  for  a 
lovely  child  she  was,  that  little  Alice  !  and  none 
could  look  into  her  deep  blue  eyes  or  on  her  dimpled 
cheeks,  or  her  golden  ringlets,  without  thinking  of 
something  better  than  our  every-day  thoughts  sug- 
gest. 

She  stood  on  tip-toe,  with  her  hands  resting  on 
the  table  from  which  rose  the  tree,  looking  eagerly 
and  alternately  into  the  faces  of  her  brother  and 
sister,  which  were  bent  lovingly  down  toward  her, 
and  never  were  three  more  beaming  and  beautiful 
faces  in  such  close  proximity. 

"  Now  Constance !  now  Vivian ! "  she  cried,  "  lift 
me  up  that  I  may  see  those  bunches  of  cherries  and 
currants  on  the  top.  I  wonder  if  Ellen  and  Anna 
will  take  them  for  real  fruit ! " 

Her  brother  playfully  obeyed  the  command,  and 
seated  her  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Take  your  last  look,  little  puss,"  he  said,  kissing 
her  and  setting  her  gently  down,  after  she  had  made 
a  satisfactory  survey  of  the  mimic  fruits,  "  for  this 
mysterious  door  must  be  shut  until  the  moment  has 
arrived  for  the  important  revelation.  Now  trot  off, 
and  if  you  chance  to  meet  Johnson  in  the  hall,  tell 
him  to  tell  Hostler  Dick  to  have  Wildair  saddled  for 
me.  I  promised  mamma  two  dozen  partridges  as  my 
contribution  to  her  Christmas  dinner,  and  I  have 


12  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

hardly  time  to  redeem  my  promise  unless  I  shoot 
them  on  the  ground,  which  a  true  sportsman  would 
scorn." 

"  Your  message  will  hardly  facilitate  the  object," 
said  Constance,  laughing.  "  Let  us  see.  You  tell 
Alice  to  tell  Johnson  to  tell " 

"  Oh  truce,  truce, ! "  cried  Vivian.  "  I  take  the 
hint,  as  I  told  you  I  would,  whenever  you  remind  me 
of  our  southern  propensities.  I'm  off !  tell " 

But  Constance  held  up  her  small  white  hand  with 
the  forefinger  menacingly  raised,  and  he  was  gone 
in  a  moment.  Soon  he  was  seen  in  the  distance  with 
a  Manton  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  pointer  dog  at 
Wildair's  heels.  It  would  have  required  but  little 
imagination  to  fancy  the  man,  the  horse,  the  dog,  and 
the  gun,  all  part  and  parcel  of  each  other,  so  har- 
moniously were  they  grouped,  so  lithe  and  easy  and 
graceful  was  the  animated  part  of  the  picture. 

"  Thar'  he  goes !  "  exclaimed  Hostler  Dick,  sus- 
pending the  operation  of  the  wisp  of  straw  with 
which  he  was  polishing  down  the  legs  of  his  horses, 
and  looking  with  evident  pride  and  exultation  after 
his  young  master.  "  Wuth  while  to  ride  that  a  way, 
hey  uncle  Tom  ?  wouldn't  ha'  had  such  a  seat  as  that, 
howsomever,  if  I  hadn't  ha'  larnt  him,  didn't  I  ? 
Now  that's  what  I  calls — a  hawss ! " 

The  last  superlative  of  admiration  was  doubtless 
intended  for  the  rider  instead  of  the  animal,  but  since 
the  celebrated  climax  of  a  western  eulogium  on  the 
Father  of  his  Country  ending  with — "  In  short,  fellow- 
citizens,  General  Washington  was — a  horse ! " — we 
need  not  wonder  that  Hostler  Dick  should  have  found 


AVONMOEE.  13 

his  beau-ideal  of  perfection  in  the  stable  where  his 
days  were  chiefly  passed. 

His  soliloquy,  or  his  observation,  whichever  it 
might  be  called,  found  its  way  over  the  gate  that 
divided  the  stable-yard  from  the  lower  part  of  the 
large  garden  which  was  devoted  to  culinary  plants, 
and  where  "  Uncle  Tom "  was  engaged  with  a  hoe 
in  uncovering  some  fine  white  celery. 

A  large  gray  cat,  which  was  as  constantly  his 
companion  as  the  cat  of  the  Godolphin  Arabian  was 
the  inseparable  of  her  equine  friend,  was  lying  near 
him  on  a  tuft  of  grass.  Puss  was  basking  and  blink- 
ing in  the  sun,  her  upturned  nose  and  yellow  eyes, 
their  long  pupils  diminished  to  a  thread,  sheltered  by 
her  tail  curled  daintily  around  them. 

As  Uncle  Tom  was  a  character  in  his  way,  wo 
shall  take  the  liberty  of  presenting  him  to  our  reader. 
He  was  an  old  man,  older  perhaps  in  his  own  remi- 
niscences than  in  reality,  though  his  white  hair,  or 
rather  wool,  proved  his  right  to  the  venerable  age 
he  claimed.  There  was  an  air  of  neatness  and  com- 
fort in  his  thick  gray  homespun  suit  and  clean  shirt 
collar,  in  his  warm  woollen  hose  and  stout  shoes,  and 
in  the  striped  gray  and  white  cap  of  fine  worsted 
which  appeared  beneath  his  broad-brimmed  hat. 
The  cap,  he  boasted,  "  Mistis  knit  for  him  with  her 
own  white  hands."  So  much  for  his  outward  man  ; 
to  judge  fairly  of  him,  he  must  speak  for  himself. 

"  Yes  !  "  he  replied  to  Hostler  Dick's  observation, 
and  apparently  comprehending  the  intended  appli- 
cation of  the  epithet  of  hawss,  "  he's  as  fine  a  lad  as 
you'll  meet  with  any  whar'  between  this  and  Ken- 


14  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

tucky.  But  you  needn't  say,  boy,  you  larnt  him  to 
ride.  You  larn  him,  indeed  !  why  you  might  jes  as 
well  say  you  larnt  a  hawss  to  eat  grass.  It's  natur, 
chile,  it's  natur.  Young  master  was  on  a  pillow  'fore 
master  ridin'  when  he  warn't  more'n  so  high,"  mea- 
suring about  a  foot  of  the  hoe  handle,  "and  jes  as 
soon  as  his  little  legs  could  straddle  the  hawss,  jump ! 
he  was  up  ahind.  You  larn  him,  indeed!"  And 
Uncle  Tom  resumed  his  digging  with  increased 
energy,  as  if  to  work  off  his  indignation  at  the  sug- 
gestion. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  git  mad  'bout  it,  Uncle  Tom," 
said  Dick  in  a  deprecatory  tone,  "  I  didn't  'zactly  say 
I  larnt  him,  I  only  ax  you,  didn't  I  larn  him  ?  Can't 
you  len'  a  han'  here  a  minnit  and  help  a  poor  feller 
fix  these  here  hawsses  ?  Sam's  gone  somewhar'  for 
master,  and  Jem's  laid  up ;  he's  allays  laid  up,  Jem 
is,  whenever  Christmas  comes  round.  And  here's 
Bess,  and  Flora,  and  the  carriage  hawsses  to  clean 
and  litter.  Jes  len'  a  han',  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Dick 
coaxingly. 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  soothed  by  the  con- 
cession made  to  his  superior  judgment,  "  I'm  allays 
willin'  to  help  a  fellow-creetur  when  he'll  listen  to 
reason."  And  with  an  alacrity  that  showed  his  pos- 
session of  the  power  to  "  len'  a  han' "  when  the  will 
guided  him,  Uncle  Tom  busied  himself  with  cleaning 
and  rubbing  down  the  horses  until  their  polished 
coats  shone  like  a  mirror. 

"  Thar'  now !  "  he  exclaimed,  straightening  him- 
self up  with  an  additional  interjection  of  "whew  !  " 
"  Thar's  what  would  make  a  day's  work  for  you  and 


AVONMOBE.  15 

Sam  and  Jem,  all  put  together.  Well,  what's  to  pay 
now  ?  " 

This  last  inquiry  was  addressed  to  a  little  urchin, 
who  came  skipping  down  to  the  stable  with  an  alter- 
nate hop,  step,  and  jump. 

"  What's  to  pay  now  ?  "  repeated  Uncle  Tom,  as 
soon  as  the  cessation  of  the  joyous  exercise  gave  the 
boy  breath  to  reply. 

"  Gran'mammy  wants  the  key  o'  your  hen-us,  sir. 
There's  fresh  eggs  wantin'  at  the  kitchen,  sir."  Uncle 
Tom  always  exacted  this  "  sir "  from  his  numerous 
descendants. 

"Well,  chile,  ain't  she  got  no  eyes?  the  key's 
right  in  the  cupboard  afore  'em,  if  she  had  any  to 
see  with,  poor  old  creetur." 

The  boy  was  hopping  off  with  the  message,  when 
Uncle  Tom  hailed  him. 

"  Look  'e  here,  chile !  what  sort  o'  foolishness 
you  call  that  ?  Why  don't  you  use  both  your  legs, 
as  God  has  given  you  in  his  goodness,  instead  o' 
standin'  on  one  leg  jes  like  a  goose  as  you  is  ?  Come 
here  to  me,  sir.  Now  that  I  think  on  it,  how  come 
you  to  be  swar'in'  when  you  was  a  sweepin'  the  walks 
yesterday  ?  huccom  you  to  swar' — how  corned  you 
to  swar  ?  "  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  variations 
made  in  the  sentence. 

"  Me  swar',  sir ! "  answered  the  boy,  opening  his 
round  eyes  to  their  largest  dimensions,  "  me  swar'  ? 
I  never  did  swar',  sir,  in  all  my  born  days." 

"  Now  don't  go  for  to  tell  me  no  stories,"  pursued 
Uncle  Tom.  "  Mistis  tell  me  her  own  self,  as  how 


16  HOME  AND  THE   WORLD. 

Miss  Alice  heard  you  say  '  The  devil ! '  when  you 
was  a  sweepin'  the  walks." 

The  round  eyes  subsided  to  their  usual  dimen- 
sions, and  the  boy's  mouth  in  turn  expanded  to  the 
broadest  possible  grin. 

"  I  warn't  a  swar'in'  gran' daddy,  I  was  jes'  sayin' 
that  new  hyme  you  larnt  me,  'bout  the  devil  tempt 
the  'ooman,  and  the  'ooman  tempt  the  man." 

"  Clar'  out,  you  little  varmint !  "  said  Uncle  Tom, 
his  features  at  once  relaxing  from  their  severity,  into 
an  expression  hardly  less  waggish  than  that  of  his 
grandson.  "Clar'  out! — make  tracks!"  he  con- 
tinued, "  or  I'll  throw  something  at  you  !  " 

The  boy  dexterously  caught  the  apple  which  Uncle 
Tom  took  from  his  pocket  and  pretended  to  aim  at 
his  head,  and  disappeared  this  time,  in  a  twinkling, 
on  both  legs. 

"  Now  sure  as  I'm  alive,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  after 
this  feat,  "  thar's  them  young  ladies  a  comin'  down 
the  garden,  and  I've  been  a  cleanin'  o'  hawsses  instead 
o'  gittin'  the  green  things  as  I  promised  'em,  but  I 
must  git  this  here  salary  fust,  any  how." 

He  resumed  his  hoe  and  continued  his  work,  as  if 
in  ignorance  of  the  gradual  approach  of  the  two  young 
girls,  who,  with  their  arms  linked  lovingly  together, 
were  sauntering  down  the  garden  walk,  apparently 
thinking  more  of  the  bright  sunshine  and  their  own 
gay  converse,  than  o*f  Uncle  Tom,  or  the  evergreens 
he  had  promised  for  their  Christmas  decorations. 
Their  warm  winter  attire,  suited  for  a  walk  in  the 
country,  gave  to  view  but  little  of  their  charms,  and 
hardly  more  could  be  seen  than  four  of  the  brightest 


AVONMOKE.  17 

eyes,  and  occasionally,  as  the  conversation  became 
more  animated,  two  rows  of  the  purest  pearls  that 
ever  sparkled  within  roseate  lips. 

The  scene  around  them  was  one  which  even  the 
"  ruler  of  the  inverted  year  "  could  not  entirely  deprive 
of  its  beauty.  A  profusion  of  evergreen  trees  were 
scattered  in  every  direction  through  the  extensive 
grounds  of  Avonmore  among  the  choice  deciduous  va- 
rieties planted  by  succeeding  generations ;  and  if  it 
were  not  literally  "  the  land  of  the  cedar  and  myrtle," 
there  was  quite  enough  of  his  first  named  favorite  to 
realize  the  poet's  dream.  Jlis  second  was  well  repre- 
sented by  the  perennial  box  to  which  the  growth  of  a 
century  had  given  the  dignity  of  trees.  The  feathery 
Weymouth  pine,  the  arbor  vitse,  the  Balm  of  Gilead, 
the  holly  with  its  clustering  crimson  berries,  and  most 
beautiful  of  all,  the  glittering  magnolia  grandiflora, 
redeemed  the  landscape  from  its  otherwise  wintry  as- 
pect, and  seemed  almost  to  contradict  the  certainty 
that  the  "  Frost  king  "  was  at  hand. 

The  songsters,  who,  at  a  more  propitious  season, 
would  have  given  fresh  life  to  these  their  favorite 
summer  haunts,  were  mute.  Only  the  superb  cardi- 
nal, better  known  by  his  every  day  title  of"  Red-bird," 
flitted  by  like  a  "  fire  naught,"  and  proudly  raising  his 
plumed  head,  glanced  as  patronizingly  and  haughtily 
at  our  two  nymphs,  as  if  he  had  been  a  young  officer 
just  promoted  in  the  life-guards  of  Queen  Victoria. 

The  house  was  just  visible  through  the  trees  from 
the  point  they  had  attained,  and  like  the  grounds, 
showed  the  work  of  successive  generations.  The 
original  structure  had  received  many  additions,  some 


18  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

of  the  latest  claiming  a  title  to  architectural  taste,  and 
completely  overshadowing  the  modest  pointed  gables 
of  the  ancient  parts  of  the  building.  The  wings  that 
flanked  it,  spread  themselves  out  as  if  to  embrace  the 
family  and  its  often  numerous  visitors  within  their 
hospitable  shelter,  and  gave  to  very  prudent  people 
the  idea  that  they  might,  at  some  future  day,  without 
good  management  on  the  part  of  the  proprietor,  assist 
the  house  to  "  take  the  estate  on  its  back,  and  fly 
away  with  it." 

This,  however,  would  have  been  rather  a  heavy 
task,  as  the  domain  embraced  several  thousand  acres, 
and  the  wide-spreading  fields  and  regal  looking  forests 
nearest  in  the  view  belonged  to  it,  and  were  yearly 
appreciating  in  value. 

But  the  elevation  of  the  site  gave  a  prospect  far 
more  extensive  than  the  immediate  vicinity,  and  of- 
fered every  variety  to  the  lovers  of  rural  scenery. 
The  blue  line  of  the  horizon  stretched  out  in  a  semi- 
circle on  one  side,  broken  only  by  a  few  shadowy 
peaks  of  mountains  that  resembled  ships  on  the  far 
distant  ocean,  and  was  met  by  the  bold  indentations 
of  a  chain  of  mountains  on  the  other.  The  sinuosi- 
ties of  a  river,  though  not  sufficiently  near  to  complete 
the  beauty  of  the  landscape  by  a  water  view,  were 
indicated  by  a  vapor  of  fleecy  white  that  marked  its 
course,  and  might  to  a  casual  observer  have  been  mis- 
taken for  the  river  itself. 

Neither  city  nor  village  was  in  sight,  and  the 
neighboring  country  seats  were  too  much  embosomed 
in  trees  to  be  visible.  Only  through  a  vista  cut  appa- 
rently for  the  purpose  in  a  fine  skirt  of  wood,  appeared 


AVONMOKE.  19 

the  castellated  tower  of  the  church :  for  a  church 
there  was,  and  one  of  such  uncommon  beauty  that  it  ex- 
cited the  wonder  of  transatlantic  strangers  who  some- 
times visited  this  remote  region,  how  such  structures 
should  "  rise  like  exhalations  "  throughout  our  favored 
land  without  the  aid  of  an  establishment.  Near, 
though  separated  by  a  cultivated  field,  rose  another 
wood  of  primeval  oaks,  whose  giant  arms  were  in  bold 
relief  against  the  clear  blue  sky. 

"  There  is  the  Tarleton  wood  of  which  I  told  you, 
Evelyn,"  said  Constance  Melville  to  her  young  com- 
panion, for  as  the  reader  may  have  surmised,  one  of 
these  fair  friends  was  a  child  of  the  family.  "  And 
there  is  the  old  oak  tree,  so  completely  covered  with 
mistletoe,  that  it  seems  to  wave  its  garlands  of  emer- 
alds and  pearls,  as  if  in  mocking  triumph  over  its  less 
fortunate  neighbors." 

"  What  an  imagination  you  have,  Constance !  " 
replied  Evelyn,  "  garlands  of  emeralds  and  pearls ! 
why  you  rival  Aladdin's  lamp  with  your  fancied  treas- 
ures. But  how  are  we  to  rob  the  old  tree  of  those 
treasures  unless  we  can  find  an  Aladdin  to  help  us  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  see  one  of  oriental  extraction  at  least, 
if  not  one  possessed  of  oriental  magic,"  said  Constance, 
pointing  to  Uncle  Tom.  "But  I  am  almost  afraid  to 
invoke  the  magician's  art ;  not  that  I  am  in  terror  of 
any  witchcraft,  or  being  spirited  up  to  the  top  of  the 
tree,  but  this  air  is  rather  keen  to  listen  to  any  of  the 
'  thousand  and  one '  tales  and  anecdotes  with  which  he 
generally  regales  us.  In  a  spring  morning,  when  the 
garden  is  in  Eden-like  freshness,  it  is  but  fair  to  listen 
to  him  while  we  gather  the  roses  he  cultivates  so  sedu- 


20  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

lously,  to  make  up  our  bouquets ;  but  like  the  world, 
as  we  have  heard  of  it,  not  as  we  have  yet  found  it, 
Evelyn,  we  are  too  apt  to  run  away  from  our  benefac- 
tor, when  we  have  no  interests  to  subserve.". 

"  A  precious  confession ! "  returned  Evelyn.  "As  a 
punishment  for  so  grave  an  offence,  I  mean  to  keep 
you  prisoner  for  at  least  ten  minutes,  while  I  hear  one 
of  these  thousand  and  one  Arabian  nights." 

"Ten  minutes,  my  dear!"  exclaimed  Constance, 
laughing ;  "  why,  you  might  as  well  have  limited  the 
Princess  Scheherezade  to  so  brief  a  space.  The  story  of 
the  Tarleton  wood  alone  would  occupy  far  more  tune 
than  you  propose,  and  I,  having  heard  it  as  often  as 
Edith  Bellenden  was  doomed  to  hear  the  description 
of  the  breakfast  or  disjeune  his  most  sacred  majesty 
Charles  the  Second  was  pleased  to  take  at  the  castle 
of  Tillietudlem,  listen  to  it  now  rather  abstractedly,  I 
confess.  But  if  you  insist  upon  it,  you  are  fairly  en- 
titled to  any  amusement  you  can  gather  from  this  or 
any  other  source,  before  our  jour  de  fete  arrives." 


CHAPTER  H. 

UNCLE    TOM'S    FREEDOM. 

"  GOOD  morning,  young  ladies !  The  tip  top  o' 
the  morning  to  you,  young  ladies,"  said  Uncle  Tom, 
as  Constance  and  her  friend  approached,  scrupulously 
adding  the  g  to  his  repetition  of  the  word  morning, 
for  he  always  adapted  his  style  of  speaking  to  his 
company,  and  on  the  present  occasion  was  nice  to  a  g 
if  not  to  a  t.  He  accompanied  the  salutation  by 
taking  off  his  hat,  and  bowing  twice,  so  low  that  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  determine  whether  the 
salaam  was  made  through  profound  respect  or  wag- 
gish drollery.  It  was  probably  a  mixture  of  both. 

"  Happy  to  see  you  again,  Miss  Evelyn,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Happy  to  see  you  at  the  old  place  once 
more.  Now  Miss  Constance,"  this  rather  aside,  and 
in  the  earnestness  of  his  apology  forgetting  his  aris- 
tocratic style,  "  I'm  a  guine  this  very  minnit  to  git  the 
things  as  I  promised  you,  jes  as  soon  as  ever  I  can  fix 
this  here  salary." 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Tom,"  replied  Constance, 
hoping  for  this  time  to  escape  the  "thousand  and 
one."  "  But  what  have  you  there  in  those  funny 
looking  boxes  by  you  ?  " 


22  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  Them  boxes  ?  the  littlest  one's  got  a  Christmas 
present  in  it  for  Miss  Alice  :  it's  a  little  ground-squir- 
rel. You  can  see  him  through  that  hole :  he  ain't 
much  bigger  than  a  mouse,  for  all  he's  got  such  a 
handsome  bushy  tail.  I  know  she  ain't  guine  to  keep 
him,  she's  so  tender-hearted,  but  she'll  have  the  fun 
of  letting  him  out  and  seeing  him  run  away. 

"And  you  want  to  know  what's  in  the  biggest 
box  ?  well,  it's  nothing  in  life  but  a  'possum  that  my 
tarrier  dog  Teucer  caught  for  me  last  night.  You 
don't  surely  want  to  see  such  a  ugly  varmint  as  a 
'possum,  Miss  Evelyn  ? "  he  added  interrogatively, 
seeing  the  girls  peeping  curiously  through  the  bars 
laid  on  the  top  of  his  prison-house,  to  prevent  the 
escape  of  the  animal. 

"Certainly  I  do,  Uncle  Tom,  I  never  saw  one 
before,  as  often  as  I  have  heard  of  them.  Why,  what 
a  ridiculous  looking  creature ! " 

"  Ridic'lus !  "  said  Uncle  Tom,  "  you  ain't  half 
seen  him  yet.  Laugh  for  the  ladies,  Poss !  laugh 
now,  I  tell  you !  "  repeated  Uncle  Tom,  accompany- 
ing his  exhortation  with  a  slight  poke  in  the  ribs  of 
"  Poss  "  with  the  end  of  the  hoe  handle  through  the 
bars  of  the  box. 

The  creature's  keen  eyes  shot  forth  an  angry  glance, 
and  as  it  uttered  a  low  sound  something  between  a 
growl  and  a  hiss,  raised  its  peaked  muzzle  and  spread  its 
jaws  to  their  widest  possible  extent,  displaying  every 
one  of  a  row  of  white  sharp-pointed  teeth.  The  effect 
was  so  ludicrous,  that  the  girls  were  surprised  into  a 
burst  of  merry  laughter. 

"  Well  done,  Poss  !  »  cried  Uncle  Tom.     "  Now 


UNCLE  TOM'S   FREEDOM.  23 

that's  what  I  call  perlite,  to  do  as  you're  bid  when 
the  ladies  wanted  to  see  you  laugh.  I'll  eat  you  all 
the  better  for  making  yourself  so  agreeable." 

"  Eat  your  pet  ?  "  said  Constance,  shrinking  back. 

"Pet,  indeed!"  replied  Uncle  Tom.  "Don't 
catch  me  makin'  a  pet  out  o'  a  'possum.  No,  indeed  ! 
Miss  Constance.  I'll  have  him  for  dinner  to-morrow. 
Why,  he's  jest  as  nice  as  any  young  pig,  'specially 
when  he's  set  with  sweet  potatoes  all  round  him  in 
the  dish.  I  only  wish  'twas  fitten  for  me  to  ask  such 
quality  as  you  young  ladies  to  come  and  taste  him. 

"  But  now,  he's  got  a  heap  more  sense  in  that  'ere 
ugly  noddle  o'  his'n  than  you'd  think.  ISTow  last 
night,  Teucer  and  me  was  up  near  the  mountain,  and 
we  see  him  and  a  raccoon  holdin'  of  a  congress  up  'pon 
top  o'  the  fence.  Teucer,  he  crep  up  close  to  'em  to 
hear  the  'scussion.  Says  Poss  to  Coon, c  Look  'e  here, 
narrow-face,  you  jes  keep  off  that  'ere  dog,  and  I'll 
help,  when  help's  a  wantin' ! '  So  Coon,  he  fights  off  the 
dog,  and  Poss,  he  lays  down,  and  pretends  to  be  dead 
or  'sleep.  '  Look  'e  here,  Poss,'  says  Coon, '  why  don't 
you  help  ? '  4  Can't ! '  says  Poss, l  I'm  too  full  o'  laugh !  > 
and  he  grinned  jes  like  you  see  him  now.  So  it's 
him  that's  caught,  'cause  he  warn't  willin'  to  help  a 
fellow-creetur  in  need,"  moralized  Uncle  Tom. 

"  But  now,  young  ladies,  thar's  some  things  to  be 
b'lieved  only  in  part  and  thar's  some  things  is  to  be 
b'lieved  intirely.  And  when  I  go  to  git  that  mizzle- 
toe  off  the  great  oak  tree  in  the  Tarleton  wood — " 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Tom,"  interrupted  Constance  rather 
hurriedly,  "  we  shall  be  much  obliged ;  and  if  you 


24  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

would  please  bring  us  some  of  the  laurel  too,  and 
some  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Miss  Constance,  certainly  I  will,  and 
as  I  was  a  saying,  when  I  go  to  the  Tarleton 
wood  " 

"  It's  all  over  with  us,  my  dear ! "  said  Constance 
in  a  low  voice  to  her  friend,  who  was  listening  with 
so  much  interest  that  Uncle  Tom  addressed  his  re- 
marks entirely  to  her,  though  they  seemed  to  have 
been  intended  for  Constance.  "Now,  heaven  save 
the  mark  !  "  she  continued.  "  Draw  your  fur  more 
closely  around  you,  for  you  will  find  it  a  comfort 
before  we  get  back  to  the  house." 

"  But  may  be,  Miss  Evelyn,  you  don't  know  the 
reason  that  'ere  wood  is  called  the  Tarleton  wood  ? 
Well,"  receiving  an  answer  in  the  negative  to  his  in- 
terrogation, "  it's  a  long,  long  tune  since  my  ole,  ole 
master,  your  great  grand'pa,  Miss  Constance,  was  a 
settin'  one  day  at  the  house,  me  and  my  master,  his 
son,  was  young  then,  and  my  master  was  gone  away 
to  be  a  colonel. 

"  And  so,  ole  master,  he  see  Tarleton  and  his  troop 
o'  red  coats  a  comin'  up  to  the  house.  He  warn't 
afeard  o'  nothin',  ole  master  warn't,  '  For,'  says  he, 
4  I'm  too  old  a  man  now  for  them  to  want  any  thing 
with  me,  and  I've  seen  too  many  Ingins  to  be  'fraid  o' 
red  coats.' 

"  So  Tarleton  comes  up,  and  says,  l  Sir,'  says  he  to 
ole  master, c  you'll  order  breakfast  directly  for  me  and 
my  troop.' 

"  *  Certainly,'  says  ole  master,  '  Tom,  you  tell  'em 
to  git  all  that's  wantin'.' 


UNCLE  TOM'S  FREEDOM.  25 

"  So  all  hands  turned  out,  and  Tarleton  and  his 
officers  they  come  in  the  house,  and  they  waited  and 
waited,  but  no  breakfast  come. 

" 4  What's  the  reason  we  don't  have  breakfast,  sir  ? ' 
says  Tarleton,  in  a  passion. 

"  l  See  for  yourself,  sir  ! '  says  ole  master.  And 
Tarleton  went  to  the  door,  and  see  his  troop  at  the 
kitchen  a  snatchin'  and  a  pullin'  every  thing,  so  as  not 
a  mouthful  could  git  to  the  house.  So  he  went  out, 
and  laid  on  'em  right  and  left,  and  cussed  'em  up  and 
down,  and  got  his  breakfast,  and  rode  off." 

"  Well,"  said  Evelyn,  beginning  to  sympathize  in 
the  apprehension  of  Constance  as  to  the  duration  of 
the  story,  "  but  this  does  not  explain  the  reason  why 
the  Tarleton  wood  received  the  name  of  the  British 
commander." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Miss  Evelyn,  I'll  come  to  that  presently. 
Well,  as  I  was  a  sayin',  Tarleton  and  his  troop  rode 
off  right  through  that  wood  ;  and  they  rode  to  your 
great  uncle's  house,  Miss  Constance,  and  Mas'  John, 
your  great  uncle,  was  jest  a  settin'  down  to  breakfast. 
Mas'  John  hadn't  but  one  daughter,  and  a  beautiful 
young  lady  she  was,  and  she  was  jes  married  to  a 
great  gentleman,  near  kin  to  some  lord,  t'other  side 
the  water. 

"  So  says  Sam,  that  waited  on  'em,  says  he  to  Mas' 
John,  a  makin'  his  best  bow,  Sam  was  allays  perlite, 
1  Master,'  says  he,  *  thar's  some  red  coats  a  comin'  up 
the  porch  steps  ! ' 

" '  The  deuce  thar'  is  ! '  says  Mas'  John,  for  he  did 
sometimes  swar'  jest  a  very  little,  when  he  hadn't 
time  to  think.  '  Frank ! '  says  he  to  his  new  son-in- 
2 


26  HOME  AOT>  THE  WOELD. 

law,  'save  yourself,  my  boy!'  so  the  young  man 
jumped  through  the  window,  and  run  down  the  gar- 
den. But  behold !  one  o'  them  red  coats  jumped 
through  the  window  arter  him,  and  laughed  like  'twas 
the  best  joke  in  the  world. 

"  *  Hello  ! '  says  he,  4  stop,  cousin  Frank,'  says  he, 
4  stop !  'taint  wuth  while  to  run,'  says  he,  c  you  know  I 
allays  could  outrun  you,'  so  he  caught  him  afore  you 
could  say  Jack  Robinson." 

"And  what  became  of  the  beautiful  lady,  his 
bride  ? "  inquired  Evelyn,  who  found  this  part  of 
the  story  better  worth  her  attention  than  the  be- 
ginning. 

"Oh,  they  only  made  him  what  they  called  a 
prisoner  on  parrol,  or  .some  such  outlandish  word. 
And  things  got  straight  again,  arter  a  while,  and  my 
master  come  home  ;  and  right  glad  I  was  to  see  him, 
for  he  was  allays  good  to  me.  When  I  was  a  lad  he 
showed  me  how  to  read  and  write  a  little,  and  young 
ladies,"  here  Uncle  Tom  drew  himself  up  with  a  con- 
sequential air,  "  it's  my  opinion,  that  if  the  colored 
people  had  the  same  importunity  of  reproving  them- 
selves that  the  white  people  have,  they  would  be  quite 
as  illiterate." 

He  waited  a  few  minutes  to  watch  the  effect  of 
this  piece  of  oratory  upon  his  fair  auditors,  but  seeing 
nothing  more  than  two  pairs  of  roguish  eyes,  the  rest 
of  the  features  being  quite  concealed  by  the  sudden 
application  to  them  of  two  white  pocket  handker- 
chiefs, again  took  up  the  thread  of  his  narrative. 

"  '  Well,'  my  master  says  to  me  one  day,  4  Tom,' 
says  he,  *  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  free  ? '  '  Yes,  sir,' 


UNCLE  TOM'S  FREEDOM.  27 

says  I,  '  I  would  that '  (with  an  emphasis  on  the  word). 
'  Well,'  says  my  master, c  I'll  give  you  and  your  family 
your  freedom.' 

"  So  I  was  full  of  it,  and  I  went  to  tell  the  good 
news  to  my  Betty.  My  Betty  allays  looked  fat  and 
hearty,  like  she  does  now,  but  somehow,  she  never 
did  make  no  great  hand  to  work. 

"  So  says  1, 4  Betty,  master  says  he's  guine  to  make 
us  free ! '  thinkin'  to  please  her  might'ly. 

"  c  Humph !  >  says  she,  c  and  what  you  guine  do 
then,  Tom  ? ' 

"  Well,  this  posed  me  some,  for  I  hadn't  thought 
much  'bout  it. 

"  4  And  what  you  guine  do  with  me  and  the  chil- 
lern,  Tom  ?  I  hearn  say  free  people  has  to  wuk  all 
day  and  wuk  all  night,  and  don't  make  nothin'  at  that. 
What'll  you  do  for  such  a  big  fire  as  that  'ere,  and  for 
them  blankets,'  (and  she  showed  me  a  pile  Mistis  had 
jes  sent  her),  'and  for  your  bread  and  your  bacon 
that  comes  every  day,  'thout  you  knowin'  whar'  it 
comes  from,  like  the  Jews  had  thar'  bread  and  thar' 
bacon  sent  to  'em  hi  the  wilder-wess  /  and  your  milk 
and  your  honey  like  them  too,  for  thar's  your  bees  in 
the  garden.  And  your  hen-us,  and  your  chaw  o' 
baccur  when  you  want  it  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Tom,  if 
you  listen  to  my  racket,  you'll  let  free  'lone.'  And  I 
did,"  said  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Your  master  then  was  the  grandfather  of  Con- 
stance ?  "  inquired  Evelyn. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Evelyn,  and  the  kind-heartedest  and 
best  man  that  ever  lived,  though  he  didn't  live  half 
long  enough,  and  he  died  away  from  home  too.  I 


28  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

know'd  it,  and  it  was  show'd  to  me  in  the  spirit  afore 
ever  the  news  come,"  lowering  his  voice  to  a  solemn 
and  earnest  tone  that  manifested  the  sincerity  of  his 
belief  hi  the  assertion.  "  Afore  ever  that  bad  news 
come,  I  had  marked  down  the  very  day  and  the  hour 
and  the  minnit  my  dear  master  died,  for  he  was  father, 
and  brother,  and  every  thing  else  to  me.  I  marked 
it  all  on  the  great  stone  under  that  big  chestnut  tree. 
And  his  young  wife — she  was  a  sweet  lady — stie  soon 
died  too,  and  they  both  lie  side  by  side  yonder," 
pointing  to  a  distant  grove  of  evergreen  trees,  "  and 
it  well-nigh  broke  my  heart." 

The  old  man  brushed  away  a  tear  with  the  sleeve 
of  his  fustian  coat,  and  without  trusting  his  voice 
farther,  busied  himself  in  preparing  to  go  on  his 
errand  for  his  young  mistress.  His  visible  and  un- 
affected sorrow  in  thus  awakening  the  memories  of  the 
past,  called  forth  a  sympathetic  emotion  in  his  young 
listeners,  and  the  bright  eyes,  suffused  with  tears, 
glittered  like  diamonds.  With  pensive  steps  they  re- 
traced their  way,  and  had  made  the  entire  circuit  of 
the  extensive  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  before  their 
ever-buoyant  spirits  had  recovered  their  wonted 
elasticity. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

TWO     HEROINES. 

As  the  reader  has  been  presented  very  uncere- 
moniously to  two  of  the  most  important  personages 
in  the  list  of  our  dramatis  personse,  and  has  seen  them 
only  in  the  unbecoming  guise  or  rather  disgmse  of 
comfortable  security  against  the  "  skyey  influences " 
that  might  otherwise  have  "  visited  "  their  fair  cheeks 
"  too  roughly,"  we  shall  take  the  perhaps  unwarrant- 
able liberty  of  following  them  to  their  "  bower,"  as  it 
would  have  been  styled  in  days  of  more  poetic  de- 
scription than  the  present.  In  plain  prose,  this 
"  bower,"  for  it  would  have  been  as  needless  to  pre- 
pare two  as  to  insist  on  building  two  nests  for  a  pair 
of  turtle-doves,  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  neat 
and  comfortable  apartment  in  the  more  ancient  por- 
tion of  the  building,  and  which  always  seemed  to 
possess  a  special  attraction  for  the  family. 

This  partiality  was  probably  the  effect  of  associa- 
tion and  habit,  though  there  was  something  attractive 
in  the  endless  and  apparently  useless  profusion  of 
doors  and  windows,  of  corridors  and  stairways,  and 
in  the  curiously  carved  cornices  and  panelled  walls ; 
the  unusual  breadth  of  the  panels  attesting  the  gigan- 


30  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

tic  size  of  the  primeval  trees  from  which  they  had 
been  fashioned. 

The  six  windows  of  the  "  bower  "  of  our  "  ladyes 
faire,"  for  it  boasted  of  this  rather  unusual  number, 
looked  out,  on  three  sides,  on  the  prospect  which  has 
been  already  described.  Happily  the  windows  did 
not  pretend  to  the  giant  proportions  of  the  panels,  as 
in  such  an  event,  the  soft  carpet  and  glowing  fire 
heaped  up  on  the  hearth,  and  dispensing  a  comforting 
warmth  and  radiance,  would  not  have  availed  to 
counteract  their  influence.  But  besides  that  these 
windows  had  the  advantage  of  being  somewhat 
smaller  than  modern  taste  would  sanction,  they  were 
sheltered  by  their  pretty  curtains  of  white  and  rose, 
daintily  assorted  in  materials  and  color  with  the 
coverings  of  the  delicate  toilette  tables,  in  the  deco- 
ration of  which  the  industry  and  skill  of  one  of  the 
turtles  had  been  exercised  to  prove  her  appreciation 
of  the  honor  done  her  by  her  friend  in  sharing  her 
"bower." 

The  large  bed  and  its  snowy  pillows  attested  the 
same  care,  by  certain  "inimitable  little  borders;" 
the  alabaster  vases  filled  with  half-blown  roses  and  ca- 
mellias, and  best  of  all,  a  table  covered  with  choice 
books,  on  the  top  of  which  lay  the  precious  bible  and 
prayer  book  of  every-day  use,  gave  in  these  distin- 
guishing features  a  just  idea  of  the  occupants  of  the 
room. 

As  we  shall  not  perhaps  again  enjoy  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  to  such  singular  advantage  the  inmates  of 
this  favored  apartment,  we  shall  for  once,  and  once 
only,  play  the  Asmodeus  of  Le  Sage,  though  almost 


TWO   HEEOINES.  31 

unwilling  to  confess  that  we  have  been  guilty  of  such 
a  clandestine  intrusion  on  their  unconscious  innocence. 
But  at  the  moment  when  the  "  Boiteux "  afforded 
the  revelation,  their  dinner  toilettes  were  nearly  com- 
pleted, and  our  young  beauties  appeared  in  a  costume 
altogether  admissible  in  a  fashionable  assembly,  ex- 
cept that  a  cloud  of  fleecy  tulle  had  not  been  added 
to  it.  We  have  only  one  peculiar  privilege, — that  of 
seeing  in  their  full  luxuriance  the  rich  tresses  that 
fell  unconfined  over  their  fair  shoulders  and  arms. 
As  one  was  seated  and  the  other  standing,  their  re- 
spective heights  cannot  well  be  compared,  but  a  tran- 
sient glance  would  have  given  them  nearly  the  same 
stature. 

We  have  no  fancy  for  heroines  who  are  supposed 
to  derive  their  charms  from  their  extraordinary  al- 
titude, like  those  of  the  old  fashioned  romances,  who 
seem  to  have  been  selected  as  was  the  first  Israelitish 
sovereign,  for  being  a  head  and  shoulders  taller  than 
other  people.  We  shall  content  ourselves  with  saying 
that  neither  of  ours  was  below,  and  not  many  inches 
above  the  height  of  "  the  statue  that  enchants  the 
world."  Like  that  most  wonderful  of  all  the  glo- 
rious relics  of  classic  Florence,  a  symmetry  approach- 
ing perfection  diminished  the  graceful  outlines  to  the 
eye,  and  more  than  ever  proved  that  beauty  of  person 
in  woman,  like  that  of  her  mind  and  heart,  depends 
more  upon  perfect  harmony  than  upon  the  predom- 
inance of  any  peculiar  charm. 

But  let  it  not  be  supposed,  because  our  heroines 
did  not  exceed  the  "  middle  stature, "  by  which  is 
probably  meant  that  as  many  are  below  as  above  it, 


32  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

that  they  were  specimens  of  a  sort  of  fade  medioc- 
rity, as  the  juste  milieu  is  sometimes  interpreted. 
On  the  contrary,  no  pains  had  been  spared  to  develope 
the  excellencies  nature  had  freely  bestowed  upon  both, 
and  the  choice  between  them  would  seem  to  depend, 
as  in  that  of  a  rose  or  a  violet,  a^camellia  or  a  carnation, 
not  so  much  on  their  relative  merits,  as  on  the  taste 
or  the  fancy  of  the  connoisseur.  The  word  seem  has 
been  purposely  introduced,  because  the  reader  may 
perhaps  have  a  preference,  and  we  are  unwilling  to  bias 
that  opinion  by  any  pretension  to  superior  judgment. 

Neither  of  them  had  numbered  more  than  seven- 
teen summers,  not  quite  the  age  that  Madame  de 
Genlis  has  indicated  as  that  of  the  perfection  of  wo- 
manly beauty. 

In  few  words,  Evelyn  Walsingham  might  be  pre- 
sented as  was  Rose  Bradwardine,  "with  a  profusion  of 
hair  of  paly  gold,  and  a  skin  as  white  as  the  snow  of 
her  native  mountains."  But  it  would  hardly  be  just 
to  dispose  thus  summarily  of  hair  that  in  its  silken 
texture  and  glossy  waves  set  off  to  marvellous  advan- 
tage a  complexion  of  as  pure  and  exquisite  a  hue  as 
that  formed  from  the  two  competitors  in  Flora's  gar- 
den, who  reconciled  their  regal  aspirations  by  "  reign- 
ing united  "  in  the  cheek  of  the  "  fairest  British  fair.'» 
Her  blue  eyes  mirrored  a  heart  both  kind  and  true, 
and  her  complexion  might  have  been  imagined  an 
index  to  her  transparent  character  ;  for  the  slightest 
emotion  sent  the  mantling  blood  to  her  cheek,  and 
often  betrayed  her  inmost  thoughts  before  her  lips 
gave  them  speech  ;  yet  it  would  have  been  a  pity  to 
deprive  such  lips  of  their  office,  for  "  coral  and  pearls," 


TWO   HEROINES.  33 

so  often  brought  up  from  their  ocean  depths  for  a 
similar  comparison,  can  alone  serve  to  complete  our 
description  of  them. 

In  its  fairness  the  complexion  of  Constance  equalled 
that  of  her  friend,  but  there  was  a  difference  in  the 
shade,  if  what  was  so  fair  could  be  said  to  have  a 
shade,  and  the  bloom  called  up  in  her  cheek  by  their 
recent  healthful  exercise  resembled  the  faint  carnation 
that  gives  to  the  interior  of  the  conch  shell  its  peculiar 
beauty.  Nature  had  departed  from  her  usual  rules, 
and  in  one  of  those  charming  freaks  in  which  she  de- 
lights, had  traced  dark  though  delicately  pencilled 
brows  upon  the  pure  forehead.  The  tresses  that  fell  in 
graceful  negligence  over  her  snowy  shoulders  were  of 
that  brilliant  Titian  hue  so  justly  admired,  though  a 
shade  darker  than  those  which  distinguish  the  favor- 
ites of  the  great  artist. 

The  color  of  her  eyes  remained  a  mystery,  for  no 
one  had  ever  thought  of  assigning  any  special  color  to 
eyes  whose  constantly  varying  expression,  now  half 
hidden  by  the  long  silken  lashes,  now  sparkling  out  in 
laughing  brilliancy,  changed  every  moment,  as  emo- 
tions of  sensibility  or  playfulness  held  their  alternate 
sway  in  her  heart.  The  outline  of  her  chiselled  lip 
would  have  served  a  sculptor  for  a  model,  if  he  could 
have  caught  it,  but  at  the  appearance  of  any  one  of 
the  little  dimples  that  lurked  in  its  corners,  or  a  single 
smile  revealing  its  pearly  treasures,  he  would  have 
thrown  down  his  implements  of  art  in  despair  of  imi- 
tating any  thing  so  fairy-like  and  charming. 

Her  small  fair  hands  were  dexterously  and  busily 
occupied  in  braiding  the  golden  locks  of  her  compan- 


34  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

ion  into  the  simple  but  becoming  Grecian  knot,  and 
she  may  be  pardoned  if  her  attention  was  not  exclu- 
sively employed  by  her  task.  The  mirror  before  which 
Evelyn  was  seated  gave  back  the  faces  and  forms  of 
both,  and  if  a  complacent  glance  was  now  and  then 
bestowed  on  her  portion  of  so  lovely  a  picture,  who 
could  blame  her  for  some  consciousness  of  "  self-ap- 
proving beauty  ?  "  But  such  glances  were  only  mo- 
mentary, and  her  attention  was  chiefly  directed  to  her 
pleasing  occupation,  and  to  its  effect  on  the  fair  image 
of  her  friend. 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of  at  that  moment, 
Constance  ?  "  inquired  Evelyn,  as  the  busy  fingers 
suspended  their  work,  and  a  glance  was  directed  ex- 
clusively to  the  reflection  in  the  mirror  of  the  bright 
lock  held  up  nearly  at  arm's  length. 

"  I  was  only  thinking,"  replied  Constance,  resum- 
ing the  braid,  "of  a  very  pretty  tableau  we  could 
make  for  one  of  our  Christmas  evenings.  I  should 
like  you  to  personate  Hope,  as  she  is  represented  in 
the  '  Ode  to  the  Passions,'  only  that  it  would  be  in 
vain  for  us  to  choose  the  '  sweetest  theme,'  as  you 
would  have  to  be  silent ;  the  4  soft  responsive  voice ' 
would  be  out  of  place,  and  you  would  not  even  have 
the  privilege  of  the  '  enchanting  smile,'  as  any  smile, 
under  such  circumstances,  would  have  rather  a  stereo- 
typed appearance.  But  you  might,  with  wonderful 
effect,  *  wave '  your  '  golden  hair,'  if,  in  such  motion- 
less pantomime,  to  wave  it  would  not  be  inadmissible." 

"A  pretty  idea,"  returned  Evelyn,  "though  it 
would  look  rather  vain  in  me  to  figure  alone  in  the 
canvas.  I  would  rather,  however,  have  my  hair  ap- 


TWO   HEROINES.  35 

pear  in  those  sentimental  4  waves,'  ttfian  in  the  classic 
'  tangles  of  Nesera's.'  What  a  droll  idea  some  of  those 
worthy  old  poets  must  have  entertained  of  their  beau- 
tiful young  damsels !  The  '  tangles  of  Nea3ra's  hair ' 
always  gave  me  a  shuddering  sensation,  for  I  could 
not  help  fancying  mine  reduced  to  a  deplorable  state, 
and  half  sacrificed  in  the  operation  of  restoring  it  to 
some  degree  of  order." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Constance,  laughing,  "  that  the 
'  tangles '  were  to  be  '  smoothed '  like  4  the  raven  down 
of  darkness,'  and  that  they  were  to  c  smile '  in  com- 
pany, when  the  agreeable  task  was  completed.  A. 
propos,  I  have  now  nearly  finished  this  part  of  mine. 
But  what  would  the  venerable  poet  have  thought,  if 
he  could  have  foreseen  two  saucy  girls  amusing  them- 
selves at  his  expense?  His  daughters,  from  their 
frightened  expression,  in  the  pictures  we  see  of  them, 
were,  as  in  duty  bound,  rather  more  respectful." 

"  Hequiescat  in  pace!  as  Dr.  Fowler  would  say, 
my  dear,"  returned  Evelyn,  "  or  as  he  would  probably 
add,  revenons  a  nos  moutons.  Let  us  return  to  our 
tableaux ;  I  think  I  can  devise  " 

But  the  device,  whatever  it  was,  remained  untold, 
for  at  that  moment  Evelyn  started  and  clasped  her 
hands,  while  the  blood  forsook  her  cheeks. 

"  My  dear  child ! "  exclaimed  Constance,  "  is  it 
possible  I  could  have  hurt  you  so  cruelly  ?  what  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

.  Evelyn  made  no  reply,  but  rose  hastily  and  ran  to 
the  window,  from  which  she  had  apparently  seen  some 
object  of  alarm.  Constance  followed,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment shared  her  feelings,  when  she  saw  Wildair 


36  HOME  AND  THE  WOBLD. 

galloping  furiously,  with  head  and  tail  erect,  covered 
with  foam,  and  the  saddle  turned  on  one  side,  as  if  he 
might  have  thrown  his  rider  and  dragged  him  on  the 
ground  with  his  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment,  however,  that  Constance 
lost  her  equanimity. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  Evelyn,"  she  said.  "  If  you 
were  more  with  us  in  the  country,  you  would  not 
attach  such  vital  importance  to  Wildair's  freak.  I 
have  more  than  one  assurance  that  Vivian  is  safe.  In 
the  first  place,  he  never  was  '  thrown '  either  at  col- 
lege or  from  a  horse ;  in  the  next,  the  idea  of  a  man 
and  a  horse  entertaining  any  fears  of  each  other,  is 
one  entirely  unknown  in  this  region ;  and  lastly,  you 
may  have  observed  that  the  bridle  is  broken,  a  sure 
proof  that  the  frolicksome  horse  was  negligently 
fastened,  while  his  rider  was  engaged  with  his  gun, 
or  in  some  other  way,  and  took  the  opportunity  of  a 
scamper  on  his  own  account." 

"Mammy,"  continued  Constance,  addressing,  by 
this  title,  a  personage  who  at  that  moment  entered 
the  room,  "  have  you  seen  my  brother  ?  " 

The  person  to  whom  this  inquiry  was  addressed, 
was  evidently  one  of  the  descendants  of  Ham ;  but  as 
there  is  every  variety  of  shade  even  among  the  in- 
digenous African  races,  the  complexion  of  this  one 
was  not  sable,  but  of  a  dark  Moorish  hue.  In  stature 
she  was  very  short,  though  her  well-turned  shoulders, 
a  characteristic  of  her  race,  relieved  this  disadvantage. 
Her  snowy  muslin  apron  and  collar  were  well  con- 
trasted with  a  dark  dress,  and  the  dress  was  not  too 
long  to  conceal  glimpses  of  a  neat  stocking,  and  the 


TWO   HEROINES.       •  37 

whole  of  a  well  burnished  shoe.  Her  head  was 
wreathed  ct,  la  Creole,  with  a  Madras  handkerchief  of 
delicate  but  varied  colors,  arranged  with  a  degree  of 
skill  that  a  Parisian  coiffeur  might  have  envied. 

Her  modest  but  assured  demeanor  denoted  a  per- 
son of  no  little  consequence,  for  she  was  one  of  a  long 
line  of  "  mammys  "  who  had  descended  in  as  regular  a 
succession  as  the  Plantagenets  or  the  Tudors.  No 
entreaties  would  have  induced  her  to  take  a  seat  in 
the  presence  of  her  superiors,  and  she  now  stood  with 
an  air  as  respectful  as  if  in  the  presence  of  royalty, 
while  "  the  young  lady,"  the  visitor  of  her  young 
mistress,  was  near  her.  Perhaps,  on  occasions  of  less 
ceremony,  she  might  not  have  forgotten  that  Con- 
stance was  once  one  of  her  "  babies." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Mammy,  "I  have  seen 
him;  he's  jes  come  with  a  strange  gentleman.  I 
heard  him.  say  to  Master  that  he  met  with  the  gentle- 
man down  at  the  public  road,  and  they  walked  up  to 
the  house  together,  and  that  was  the  reason  the  horse 
got  away.  I  thought  you  might  be  skeered  when 
you  saw  him  running  with  the  saddle  on,  and  I  came 
to  tell  you." 

"  We  were  a  little  frightened,  when  we  first  saw 
him,"  said  Constance,  more  readily  interpreting  the 
word  "  sheered,"  than  our  reader  will  perhaps  be  able 
to  do.  "  But  who  is  the  strange  gentleman  ?  Can  it 
be  Doctor  Fowler  ?  "  she  continued,  addressing  her- 
self to  Evelyn. 

"  Oh  no,  ma'am !  "  exclaimed  Mammy,  taking  the 
inquiry  to  herself.  "I've  seen  Doctor  Fowler,  and 
the  gentleman  isn't  a  bit  like  him.  He's  a  young 


t38  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

gentleman,  and  a  very  nice-looking  gentleman,  and  I 
think  I  heard  Master  say  he  was  an  English  gentle- 
man, and  an  officer." 

"Captain  Delamere!  I  am  certain  of  it!"  ex- 
claimed Evelyn.  "How  fortunate  that  he  should 
come  at  this  propitious  moment  to  assist  in  enliven- 
ing our  circle!  Not  that  it  needs  more  than  our 
noble  selves  to  make  it  charming,  but  as  your  young 
party  is  only  invited  to  come  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
we  shall  have  all  the  more  amusement  in  the  interval." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  felt  so  special  an  interest 
in  Captain  Delamere,  Evelyn,"  said  Constance,  the 
lurking  dimples  playing  round  her  lip,  and  a  comic 
glance  beaming  from  her  eye.  "  I  am  afraid  if  Vivian 
makes  such  a  discovery,  he  will  hardly  be  able  to  do 
the  honors  with  his  usual  grace.  But  while  we  are 
talking  of  them,  they  are  probably  waiting  for  us,  so 
we  have  not  time  now  for  farther  conjectures." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ENGLISH     MANNERS. 

OUR  first  three  chapters  have  "  made  to  themselves 
wings,"  and  flown  by  without  giving  us  time  to  reflect 
that  we  have  been  entirely  occupied  with  the  intro- 
duction of  the  lesser  lights  of  Avonmore,  while  the 
proprietor  himself  has  not  yet  taken  the  position  to 
which  he  is  entitled. 

A  brief  space  only  has  elapsed  since  the  occurrence 
of  the  few  unimportant  events  that  we  have  recorded, 
and  they  have  all  been  embraced  within  the  period  of 
Mr.  Melville's  morning  ride. 

He  would  have  been  somewhat  surprised  if  he  had 
suspected  that  his  name  would  ever  have  served  "  to 
point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale ; "  but  a  character  of 
real  dignity,  of  earnest  conviction,  of  superior  eleva- 
tion, is  as  necessary  in  the  construction  of  a  story,  as 
is  the  firm  prop  to  the  delicate  tendrils  of  the  sur- 
rounding plants  that  enclasp  and  adorn  it. 

If  Mr.  Melville  had  been  asked  his  opinion  of  the 
highest  qualities  requisite  "to  give  assurance  of  a 
man,"  he  would  have  answered,  "  Truth,  Probity,  and 
an  earnest  and  fearless  pursuit  of  the  Right ; "  and 
these  are  precisely  the  qualities  which  in  himself  shone 


40  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

out  with  such  peculiar  lustre.  But  it  must  not  be 
supposed  because  the  word  "  earnest "  has  been  twice 
used  in  portraying  him,  that  we  are  about  to  present 
a  solemn  bore,  or  a  pragmatical  cynic  to  our  reader. 
Nothing  can  be  farther  from  our  purpose,  for  in  all 
the  amenities  of  life,  Mr.  Melville  had  succeeded  in 
attaining  the  right  as  amiably  and  as  perfectly  as  he 
had  done  in  more  serious  pursuits. 

He  was  not  a  vain  man,  for  he  regarded  the  four 
cardinal  advantages  of  genius,  birth,  beauty,  and  in- 
herited wealth,  as  gifts  of  Divine  Providence,  for 
which  to  be  grateful,  but  of  which  no  one  has  a  right 
to  be  vain ;  and  being  content  to  preserve  and  develope 
the  ample  portion  of  these  gifts  bestowed  on  himself, 
he  was  not  disposed  to  be  uncharitable  or  even  critical 
towards  any  on  whom  such  blessings  had  been  less 
freely  lavished.  To  these  advantages  he  added  some 
common  ones,  that  is,  if  common  truth,  common 
honesty,  and  common  sense  might  not  perhaps  be 
classed  with  the  most  uncommon  qualities  in  the 
world. 

As  we  might  have  summed  up  the  character  of 
Mr.  Melville  in  a  single  expressive  word,  by  saying 
that  he  was  "  a  gentleman,"  that  of  Mrs.  Melville  may 
be  understood  when  she  is  presented  as  "  a  gentle- 
woman ; "  an  old-fashioned  title,  but  one  that  has  a 
more  exact  and  extended  signification  than  the  modern 
and  elegant  one  of  "  lady."  Her  best  traits  can  hardly 
be  called  distinguishing,  in  an  age,  and  especially  in  a 
country  where  the  devoted  wife,  the  watchful  and 
tender  mother,  the  sympathetic  friend,  the  kind  mis- 
tress, form  the  rule  and  not  the  exception.  If  she 


ENGLISH   MANNERS.  41 

was  adored  by  her  husband,  idolized  by  her  children, 
loved  and  trusted  by  her  friends,  and  venerated  by 
her  servants,  she  saw  daily  instances  around  her  of  the 
same  womanly  virtues.  And  she  well  knew  that 
whatever  influence  she  possessed  was  to  be  ascribed  to 
that  pure  and  unselfish  sympathy  which  is  ready  at 
all  times  to  make  all  sacrifices  for  the  happiness  and 
well-being  of  others. 

Her  heart  was  as  young  and  tender  as  when  it 
was  first  won,  and  alike  in  their  joys  or  their  sorrows 
her  children  flew  to  her  arms  for  sympathy  when  they 
rejoiced,  and  for  consolation  when  they  wept.  They 
and  their  young  companions  regarded  her  almost  as 
one  of  themselves,  and  the  Christmas  at  Avonmore 
was  anticipated  by  them  without  any  apprehension  of 
surveillance  or  restraint  in  their  innocent  pleasures. 

Mr.  and  M*s.  Melville  were  seated  in  a  parlor,  the 
windows  of  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  extensive 
lawn  in  front  of  the  house.  One  side  of  it  gave  en- 
trance to  a  conservatory  filled  with  tropical  fruit  trees 
and  flowering  plants  which  were  mingled  in  pleasing 
variety,  and  banished  all  ideas  of  winter.  But  the  idea 
of  winter  was  not  unpleasantly  recalled  by  the  ample 
wood  fire  that  sparkled  and  blazed  as  if  in  honor  of 
"  merry  Christmas."  A  crimson  carpet  and  curtains 
completed  the  comfortable  effect  of  the  room,  and  the 
open  piano  with  an  upright  sheet  of  music  on  it,  the 
books  scattered  on  the  tables,  and  the  tapestry  work 
left  rather  carelessly  on  a  sofa,  showed  the  favorite 
parlor. 

A  few  choice  flowers  were  carefully  assorted  in 
small  vases  on  the  tables,  and  but  a  few,  for  Mrs. 


42  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

Melville  had  restrained  the  fair  pilfering  fingers  that 
would  have  transferred  all  her  pet  flowers  to  them. 
To  compensate  for  this  deficiency,  the  mirrors  and  the 
paintings  had  been  plentifully  decorated  with  wreaths 
of  ivy  and  laurel,  interspersed  with  branches  of  arbor 
vita?,  holly  and  cedar,  uniting  in  pleasing  contrast 
their  ornamental  berries  of  blue  and  scarlet. 

Mr.  Melville  was  engaged  in  reading  the  news- 
papers just  presented  him  as  the  result  of  his  messen- 
ger's daily  visit  to  the  post-office,  and  Mrs.  Melville 
had  taken  up  one  of  the  pieces  of  tapestry  lying  on  the 
sofa,  apparently  with  the  intention  of  continuing  the 
buds  and  blossoms  that  were  glowing  with  mimic 
freshness  on  the  canvas,  when  Vivian  entered  and  pre- 
sented "  Captain  Delamere." 

The  handsome  young  officer  paid  his  compliments 
with  the  high-bred  air  that  marks  the  JEnglish  gentle- 
man, and  was  received  with  a  cordiality  no  less  pleasing 
and  distinguished ;  and  as  Captain  Delamere  and  her 
son  stood  together  before  her,  Mrs.  Melville  thought, 
and  justly,  that  it  would  have  been  no  easy  matter  to 
have  found  two  nobler  young  men. 

They  were  both  tall  and  finely  formed ;  both  with 
the  dark  blue  eyes,  the  chestnut  hair  and  fair  com- 
plexion that  distinguishes  the  Saxon  even  when  sepa- 
rated by  oceans  and  generations  from  the  parent 
stock.  But  a  soldier's  life  and  some  seniority  of  years 
had  given  their  perfect  finish  to  the  form  of  the  officer, 
while  that  of  Vivian,  though  manly,  lithe,  and  emi- 
nently graceful,  suggested  the  idea  that  a  few  more 
years,  in  giving  it  more  development,  would  enhance 
its  elegance. 


ENGLISH   MANNERS.  43 

The  noble  turn  of  the  features  and  their  general  ef- 
fect gave  them  a  partial  resemblance  as  seen  by  a  super- 
ficial observer,  but  there  was  a  depth  of  feeling  and  of 
latent  thought  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  student,  and 
a  sparkling  brilliancy  in  his  smile,  that  promised  still 
increasing  interest  when  time  should  fully  unfold  the 
treasures  of  mind  and  heart  they  indicated. 

"  We  are  most  happy  to  welcome  you  here,  Cap- 
tain Delamere,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  rising  and  shaking 
hands  cordially  with  the  young  officer.  "  It  gives  me 
sincere  pleasure  to  see  that  you  have  not  forgotten  us, 
and  we  esteem  it  no  small  compliment  that  you  should 
come  to  us  at  so  unpropitious  a  season." 

" '  The  seasons  and  their  change'  are  hardly  percep- 
tible here,"  said  Captain  Delamere,  glancing  toward 
the  conservatory,  and  bowing  to  Mrs.  Melville,  who 
acknowledged  the  implied  courtesy  with  a  smile. 
"  Mrs.  Melville  and  yourself  must  have  certainly  found 
the  elixir  vitce  in  some  fountain  at  the  base  of  these 
mountains.  You  are  both  in  finer  health  than  when  I 
last  met  with  you." 

"  The  elixir  vitse  which  we  should  interpret  as  our 
pure  air,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  is  heartily  at  your 
service,  and  it  gratifies  me  to  perceive  that  you  are 
already  so  far  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  illness 
which  you  informed  us  had  compelled  you  to  seek  a 
temporary  relaxation  from  your  duties  in  India." 

"  Yes,  I  am  so  far  recovered,"  replied  Captain 
Delamere,  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  "  that  I  have  no 
farther  reason  for  delaying  my  return.  Since  I  have 
taken  an  extended  survey  of  the  western  continent 
in  my  recent  tour,  I  have  been  tempted  to  wish  that 


44  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

I  had  selected  the  Canadian  snows  rather  than  the 
burning  suns  of  the  East,  as  the  scene  of  my  exile." 

"  You  would  not  regard  it  as  so  good  a  theatre 
for  the  achievement  of  military  glory,  I  hope,"  said 
Mr.  Melville,  smiling,  "  as  in  that  case  we  should  ap- 
prehend some  belligerent  purposes  toward  ourselves. 
But  I  trust  that  day  is  past,  not  soon  to  return.  We 
have  associations  and  friendships  with  the  mother 
country  that  every  visit  we  exchange  serves  to  renew 
and  strengthen. 

"  It  has  been  some  time,"  continued  Mr.  Melville, 
"  since  I  was  in  England,  but  I  have  many  reasons  for 
recalling  with  pleasure  the  portion  of  my  visit  passed 
at  the  country  seat  of  one  of  her  noble  sons  in  the 
vicinity  of  Exeter.  It  was  on  an  occasion  when  I 
was  one  of  many  guests,  and  having  then  seen  but 
little  of  your  society,  I  was  naturally  disposed  to  ob- 
serve its  distinguishing  features.  Conversation,  espe- 
cially at  dinner,  I  remarked,  was  easy,  cheerful,  and 
animated,  and  I  was  particularly  struck  on  this,  as  I 
have  been  on  other  occasions,  with  the  well-bred  mod- 
esty and  quiet  unobtrusive  manners  of  the  Mite  of  the 
English  nobility." 

"  I  should  certainly  subscribe  to  the  word  Mite," 
said  Captain  Delamere,  "  on  which  I  observe  you  lay 
a  peculiar  and  significant  emphasis." 

"  It  might  not  perhaps  be  quite  consistent  with 
the  deference  often  observed  without  discrimination 
toward  your  nobles  to  dwell  too  long  on  that  word," 
returned  Mr.  Melville.  "But  the  noblemen  present 
on  this  occasion  were  of  superior  rank,  and  were  all 
highly  intelligent  and  exceedingly  well  informed  men. 


ENGLISH   MANNERS.  45 

And  yet  they  seemed  studiously  to  yield  the  pas  both 
in  conversation  and  the  forms  of  social  observance  to 
their  untitled  neighbors.  In  this  close  contact  of  the 
different  orders  of  which  English  society  is  composed, 
I  observed  that  their  intercourse  was  perfectly  easy 
and  familiar,  and  on  the  part  of  these  noblemen  a 
marked  deference  and  apparent  yielding  of  superiority 
to  those  less  elevated  in  the  scale  of  their  conven- 
tional hierarchy." 

"  I  can  hardly  be  mistaken  in  your  host,  I  think," 
said  Captain  Delamere.  "  I  have  often  partaken  of 
his  hospitality." 

"  It  would  then  be  idle  to  give  my  impression  of 
his  residence,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  "  but  it  doubtless 
gives  you  pleasure  to  recall  it,  and  as  Mrs.  Melville 
and  Vivian  have  not  seen  it,  you  will  pardon  my  en- 
thusiasm if  I  recount  some  of  its  peculiar  charms. 
The  grounds,  though  simple,  I  found  unsurpassed  by 
any  I  had  seen  in  England  for  nobleness  and  beauty. 
The  house  is  situated  at  the  base  of  a  very  high  hill, 
clothed  with  magnificent  forest  trees  consisting  of 
beech,  oak,  chestnut,  and  various  kinds  of  fir,  from 
among  which  the  undergrowth  is  entirely  removed 
and  replaced  with  luxuriant  grass,  while  smooth  wind- 
ing roads  are  constructed  along  its  side  in  such  a  way 
as  to  afford  at  almost  every  step  a  new  and  charming 
point  of  view. 

"  An  extensive  park  stretches  over  undulating  and 
sloping  grounds  in  front  of  the  house,  dotted  over 
with  noble  trees,  oaks,  elms,  or  cedars  of  Lebanon, 
sometimes  standing  singly,  sometimes  in  groups,  and 
so  disposed  as  to  give  the  highest  effect  to  the  natural 


46  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

features  of  the  landscape,  a  thing  which  is  better  un- 
derstood in  England  than  in  any  other  country  in  the 
world." 

"And  the  conservatory,  and  above  all  the  chapel  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Melville, "  for  I  have  always  considered  that 
the  highest  ornament  of  a  noble  country  seat." 

"  A  fine  conservatory,"  replied  Mr.  Melville,  "  is 
embraced  within  a  smoothly  shaven  lawn,  which  is 
separated  by  a  light  iron  railing  from  the  park.  The 
lawn  is  adorned  with  rustic  vases  of  flowers  here  and 
there,  and  several  gigantic  trees,  among  them  an  im- 
mense tulip  tree,  presiding  with  druidical  majesty 
over  the  scene.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  house  is 
a  flower  garden  arranged  with  exquisite  taste,  and  is 
fully  seen  from  the  dining  room  windows  which  de- 
scend to  the  floor.  At  some  distance  from  the  house 
on  the  same  side,  standing  on  a  projection  of  the  hill, 
is  a  beautiful  chapel  built  by  the  proprietor  for  the 
use  of  his  own  family  and  that  of  the  tenants  and  la- 
borers upon  his  estate,  and  near  it  a  school-house 
built  like  the  chapel  in  the  gothic  style,  and  intended 
for  the  children  of  the  neighborhood,  over  which  Lady 
A  *****  exercises  a  maternal  supervision. 

"  All  this  assemblage  of  beautiful  and  noble  ob- 
jects," continued  Mr.  Melville,  "set  down  in  the 
bosom  of  a  country,  which  by  its  variety  of  hill  and 
dale  and  its  red  soil  also  bears  so  strong  a  resemblance 
to  our  own,  suggested  wishes  and  plans  of  improve- 
ment at  home,  which,  though  they  may  never  be 
realized,  it  was  yet  pleasing  to  revolve  in  my  mind 
while  I  had  so  perfect  and  charming  a  model  before 
my  eyes." 


ENGLISH  MANNEES.  47 

Captain  Delamere  was  about  to  make  a  compli- 
mentary remark  on  the  success  that  had  already 
attended  the  efforts  of  his  host  to  emulate  so  bright 
an  example,  when  the  young  ladies  made  their  appear- 
ance, and  his  compliments  were  naturally  turned  to- 
wards them. 

Beaming  with  youth  and  health,  and  fresh  from 
the  toilette,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  two  lovelier 
creatures.  Their  dress,  from  a  girlish  fancy,  was  the 
same — simple,  but  arranged  with  the  exquisite  neat- 
ness and  taste  that  always  distinguishes  the  lady  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  word. 

A  silk  dress  of  the  becoming  shade  of  blue,  well 
known  as  the  bleu  Louise,  was  relieved  around  the 
open  corsage  and  sleeves  by  fine  Valenciennes  lace, 
and  gave  a  soup^on  of  the  white  necks  and  arms, 
of  which  we  have  elsewhere  taken  the  liberty  of  a 
surreptitious  description,  and  which  were  brilliantly 
contrasted  with  the  color  of  the  dress.  A  brooch 
and  bracelet  of  blue  enamel  on  gold,  the  only  orna- 
ments they  wore,  showed  by  their  simplicity  that  the 
wearers  had  no  wish  "  to  share  with  art  the  triumphs 
of  their  eyes." 

"  I  have  recently  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your 
father,  Miss  Walsingham,"  said  Captain  Delamere, 
after  gracefully  paying  his  compliments  to  both  the 
young  ladies,  "  and  I  was  very  near  having  the  honor 
of  his  company  as  a  travelling  companion.  Mr.  Regi- 
nald Villiers  would  also  have  been  of  our  party,  but 
he  has  rather  unexpectedly  embarked  for  Europe." 

Evelyn  returned  her  thanks  for  the  intelligence, 
adding  that  she  had  recently  received  a  letter  from 


48  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

her  father,  in  which  these  intentions  had  been  men- 
tioned to  her. 

"  Mr.  Villiers  is  then  an  acquaintance  of  yours, 
Captain  Delamere  ?  "  inquired  Constance. 

Evelyn  smiled.  "  Constance,"  she  said,  "  assures 
me  that  I  have  had  a  romantic  dream,  of  which  Regi- 
nald is  the  hero,  and  insists  that  he  is  a  myth." 

"  My  proof  of  the  assertion,"  replied  Constance, 
"  is,  that  though  I  have  often  heard  of  Mr.  Reginald 
Villiers,  I  have  never  seen  him,  and  that  I  have  never 
seen  any  one  who  has  seen  him.  Is  not  this  sufficient 
to  warrant  my  theory,  Captain  Delamere  ?  " 

"  It  is  fortunate  that  you  have  given  me  a  moment 
to  consider  my  answer  to  your  first  inquiry,  Miss 
Melville,"  said  Captain  Delamere,  "  as  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  only  confirm  instead  of  dissipating  your  sus- 
picions. I  have  the  pleasure  of  being  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Villiers  only  through  a  friend,  but  a  friend 
who  would  soon  dispel  all  your  doubts  by  his  enthu- 
siastic praises  of  Mr.  Villiers." 

"So  far  then,"  said  Constance,  laughing,  "my 
theory  stands  unimpeached." 

"But  Reginald  is  an  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Mel- 
ville," said  Evelyn,  appealing  to  Vivian.  "  I  am 
quite  sure  I  have  heard  you  speak  of  him." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Vivian,  "  I  have  often  heard 
my  college  friend,  Ainslie,  mention  him  as  the  best 
student  of  the  classics  he  knew." 

"  He  was  not  then  your  own  classmate  ?  "  inquired 
Captain  Delamere. 

"  No,  I  knew  him  only  by  reputation/  But  Ainslie 
refers  to  him  as  to  an  oracle,  and  pronounces  him  such 


ENGLISH   MANNERS.  49 

a  miraculous  being,  that  he  may  well  be  mistaken  for 
a  myth, — in  short,  a  college  youth  who  dares  to  be 
singularly  good." 

"  No  small  praise,  certainly,"  said  Captain  Dela- 
mere.  "  But  we  have  not  yet  refuted  Miss  Melville's 
theory.  Suppose  we  were  to  inquire  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Melville  ?  " 

"Willingly,"  returned  Constance,  to  whom  the 
proposition  was  addressed.  "  Mamma,  is  Mr.  Reginald 
Villiers  an  acquaintance  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Melville. 

"A  brief  but  satisfactory  reply,"  said  Captain 
Delamere.  "  We  have  now  to  appeal  to  Mr.  Melville 
as  the  only  remaining  member  of  our  circle,  who  has 
not  yet  been  catechized." 

"  I  was  formerly  well  acquainted  with  the  family 
of  Mr.  Villiers,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  "  but  I  do  not 
know  Reginald.  He  has  grown  up  since  that  time, 
and  I  am  happy  to  hear  so  favorable  an  account  of 
him." 

"  My  theory  is  completely  established,  as  you  per- 
ceive, Evelyn,"  said  Constance.  "  Now  promise  me 
that  you  will  have  no  more  romantic  dreams  of  myth- 
ical personages." 

Dinner  was  at  that  moment  announced,  and  Cap- 
tain Delamere  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Melville.  Mr. 
Melville  paid  the  same  compliment  to  Evelyn,  and 
Vivian,  after  they  had  passed,  making  a  profound 
bow  to  Constance,  which  was  reciprocated  by  as  pro- 
found a  mock  courtesy  on  her  side,  playfully  locked 
his  arm  in  hers,  and  followed  them. 

The  conversation  in  so  small  a  party  was,  of  course, 
3 


50  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

general,  and  became  more  gay  and  lively  as  Captain 
Delamere  experienced  less  and  less  of  the  restraint 
that  is  inevitably  felt  on  the  first  introduction  to  a 
new  scene,  and  a  circle  with  whom  there  has  not  been 
previously  any  familiar  acquaintance. 

The  meal  was  half  over,  when  one  of  the  attending 
servants  presented  a  letter  to  Mr.  Melville. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said  as  he  broke  the  seal,  "  that 
I  had  received  ah1  my  missives  this  morning :  but  this 
one,  I  suppose,  is  something  of  special  interest.  I 
trust  it  does  not  require  an  immediate  answer.  If 
the  testy  poet  were  interrupted  in  the  middle  of  din- 
ner, I  can  easily  appreciate  his  exclamation  : 

"  '  Heavens  !  was  I  born  for  nothing  but  to  write  ? 
Has  life  no  joys  for  me  ?     Or  to  be  grave, 
Have  I  no  friend  to  serve, — no  soul  to  save  ?  ' 

"  This  letter,  happily,"  continued  Mr.  Melville, 
"  does  not  warn  me  that  I  was  born  for  nothing  but 
to  write,  as  it  demands  no  answer  at  all.  It  is  only  a 
note  from  Doctor  Fowler,  saying  that,  as  he  is  on  a 
visit  in  the  neighborhood,  he  will  come  soon  to  pass  a 
day  with  us." 

"  Doctor  Fowler  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Melville,  very  inno- 
cently and  quietly,  "  why,  I  thought  he  was  dead." 

"  My  dear  ! "  ejaculated  Mr.  Melville  in  a  tone  of 
gentle  reproach. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Fowle,  and  not  the  Doctor,  of  whom 
you  heard  the  report,  mamma,"  said  Vivian ;  and  as 
he  spoke  he  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  Constance.  Con- 
stance looked  slyly  at  Evelyn,  who  in  turn  met  a 
comic  look  from  Captain  Delamere.  All  four  pairs 


ENGLISH   MANNEES.  51 

of  the  bright  eyes  were  turned  towards  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville. 

But  the  battery  was  as  unsuccessful  as  was  the 
bolt  of  Cupid,  when  his  shaft  fell  harmless,  and  "  the 
imperial  votress  passed  on  fancy  free,"  for  Mrs. 
Melville  was  at  that  moment  watching  the  blue  flame 
that  quivered  on  the  top  of  a  remarkably  nice  plum 
pudding,  and  was  waiting  for  the  blaze  to  subside 
before  it  should  be  offered  to  her  guests.  She  looked 
up,  and  instantly  comprehending  the  meaning  of  the 
glances  directed  toward  her,  joined  in  the  merry 
laugh  raised  at  her  expense. 

"  My  dear  children  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  is  it  pos- 
sible you  could  have  supposed  that  I  wish  any  harm 
to  Doctor  Fowler  ?  I  am  sure  nothing  so  uncharitable 
was  farther  from  my  intention.  It  is  true  we  might 
have  had  the  prospect  of  a  visit  that  would  have 
given  me  more  pleasure,  but  the  Doctor,  as  I  remem- 
ber him,  is  a  very  learned  man,  and  I  dare  say,  a  very 
respectable  person." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  stay  long,  papa  ?  "  inquired 
Constance,  timidly. 

"  I  rather  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Melville  in  an  absent 
manner,  as  if  he  were  uttering  his  own  reflections 
instead  of  answering  the  question,  and  he  was  in  turn 
forced  to  join  in  the  merriment  on  his  side  of  the 
table. 

"  But  the  Doctor,"  he  continued,  "  is  really  a  very 
learned  man,  and  if  he  would  content  himself  with 
showing  only  his  true  colors  instead  of  hoisting  as 
many  as  a  pirate  sloop  when  pursued  by  a  frigate,  he 
would  still  be  an  interesting  man." 


52  HOME   AND   THE   WOELD. 

"What,  then,  can  have  metamorphosed  him  so 
completely  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Melville,  her  question 
threatening  to  bring  the  laugh  on  her  again. 

"  In  early  life,"  replied  Mr.  Melville,  "  he  devoted 
himself  to  natural  science  and  the  ancient  classics 
with  eminent  success ;  but  after  living  some  time  as  a 
confirmed  old  bachelor,  he  took  a  fancy  for  a  young 
wife." 

"  And  this  then  is  the  cause  of  the  metamorphosis," 
said  Evelyn.  "  We  shall  have  to  be  very  careful  lest 
we  captivate  old  gentlemen,  Constance." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  gallantly,  "  there 
are  some  young  ladies  who  captivate  old  gentlemen 
without  such  sinister  designs  or  such  dangerous  con- 
sequences. But  the  fair  help-meet  the  Doctor  selected 
was,  as  you  may  imagine,  not  the  most  eligible  choice 
for  him.  lie  informs  me  that  Mrs.  Fowler  an,d  his 
daughter,  Miss  Kezia,  will  accompany  him,  so  that 
you  will  have  an  opportunity  of  judging  for  yourself." 

"  Miss  what !  "  said  Constance  and  Evelyn  in  the 
same  breath. 

"  Miss  Kezia,"  said  Mr.  Melville.  "  Mrs.  Fowler's 
name  is  Jemima,  but  she  declared  it  entirely  too  old- 
fashioned  for  civilized  society.  The  Doctor,  with  the 
characteristic  admiration  of  antiquities  which  at  that 
time  distinguished  him,  pronounced  his  opinion  in 
>  favor  of  the  name  of  Karen-Happuch  for  this  scion 
of  his  house,  but  contented  himself  at  last  with  a 
compromise  in  the  intermediate  name  of  Kezia." 

"  I  think  from  what  I  have  learned,  Vivian,"  said 
Mrs.  Melville,  "  that  you  will  have  to  conceal  all  your 
recent  acquisition  of  the  ancient  classics,  as  the  Doc- 


ENGLISH   MANNEKS.  53 

tor  now  dislikes  any  allusion  to  them,  and  affects  to 
despise  them  in  honor  of  his  modern  and  fashionable 
wife.  He  has  renounced  them,  and  now  confines  him- 
self entirely  to  the  modern  tongues,  which  he  heralds 
forth  with  surprising  flourishes  on  all  relevant  and 
irrelevant  occasions.  He  pretends  also  to  be  a-  wor- 
shipper of  the  fine  arts  and  the  graces,  and  it  may  be 
truly  said,  with  regard  to  his  new  accomplishments, 
he  understands  as  much  of  one  as  the  other.  But  it 
is  growing  dark;  shall  we 'adjourn  our  session'  to 
the  parlor  ?  I  suppose  the  gentlemen  will  not  care  to 
banish  us  on  such  an  unceremonious  occasion." 

The  evening  flew  by  merrily  and  pleasantly  ;  and 
Captain  Delamere,  in  answer  to  his  request  to  be 
favored  with  music,  heard  with  no  little  surprise  the 
union  of  two  voices  in  the  artistic  compositions  of 
Italy  and  Germany,  as  well  as  in  the  plaintive  ballads 
of  Ireland  and  Scotland,  that  would  have  been  listened 
to  with  thrilling  delight  by  the  amateurs  of  a  Parisian 
salon. 

The  day  closed  with  family  devotion,  which  was 
never,  under  any  pretext,  omitted.  Happy  the  do- 
mestic circle  united  by  this  bond  of  sympathy  and 
love  !  Happy  those,  who  daily  and  nightly,  according 
to  an  expressive,  though  quaint  and  homely  phrase, 
thus  "  hem  the  mornings  and  evenings  of  the  house- 
hold, and  so  prevent  them  from  ravelling  out." 


CHAPTER  V. 

MODERN    ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

THE  church  bell  resounded  sweetly  through  the 
clear  frosty  air  on  Christmas  morning,  and  all  hearts 
were  ready  to  obey  the  welcome  signal. 

Constance  and  Evelyn,  Vivian  and  Captain  Dela- 
mere  made  up  apartie  carree  for  the  open  carriage  ; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Melville,  with  little  Alice,  more  pru- 
dently sheltered  themselves  within  the  family  coach. 

"  I  hope  we  are  not  late,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  looking 
at  his  watch  ;  "  our  good  pastor  is  always  exact  to  a 
minute,  and  faithful  to  his  motto  of  '  punctual  minis- 
ters make  a  punctual  congregation.'  I  wish  all  our 
clocks  and  watches  kept  time  as  perfectly  as  he  does." 

We  cannot  venture,  as  a  distinguished  author  has 
recently  done,  to  give  the  sermon  of  this  particular 
occasion,  though  if  we  dared  to  do  so,  it  would  be  by 
far  the  best  part  of  our  story.  But  the  discourses  of 
the  pastor  were  the  least  part  of  his  ministry,  and  we 
prefer  giving  some  idea  of  his  character. 

The  beautiful  portrait  of  Goldsmith  presents  an 
ideal  far  more  perfect  than  any  our  feeble  pencil  could 
delineate  ;  but  there  were  some  traits  in  the  modest 


MODERN"   ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  55 

excellence  of  our  model  which  deserve  to  be  recorded. 
To  the  excellencies  traced  by  the  poet,  Mr.  Bloom- 
field  added  a  strength  of  purpose  and  an  efficiency  of 
action  which  could  be  derived  alone  from  the  highest 
source. 

His  anxieties  were  not  for  the  wealthier  portion 
of  his  flock,  for  in  their  comparatively  simple  mode 
of  life,  they  were  not  exposed  to  the  dangers  of  either 
"  poverty  or  riches,"  the  extremes  so  justly  depre- 
cated by  the  wise  ruler  of  Israel.  It  was  to  the  poor, 
and  especially  to  the  young,  that  his  attention  was 
chiefly  directed.  The  children  of  his  flock  esteemed 
it  a  privilege  to  receive  the  instruction  so  regularly 
and  diligently  bestowed,  and  the  poorest  African 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  friend  who  could  point  him  to 
the  way  of  life. 

This  humble  class,  with  all  the  warmth  of  afiection 
and  Oriental  fervor  of  imagination  that  so  readily 
lend  themselves  to  the  teaching  of  a  superior  mind, 
was  his  especial  care ;  and  the  afternoon  of  every 
Sabbath  day  was  scrupulously  and  regularly  devoted 
to  their  instruction. 

He  was  beloved  even  by  the  most  thoughtless  of 
the  younger  part  of  his  flock,  for  while  he  warned 
them  faithfully,  he  indulged  in  no  pragmatical  inter- 
ference where  pious  parents  were  competent  to  direct 
them.  Yet  even  thoughtless  youth  had  been  known 
to  sacrifice  the  "pernicious  weed"  and  other  still 
more  dangerous  indulgences  when  he  earnestly  repre- 
sented them  as  destructive  to  the  over  stimulated 
mind  of  the  student,  and  adding  by  needless  and  un- 
warrantable expense,  a  still  heavier  burthen  to  some 


56  HOME  AND   THE   WOULD. 

widowed  mother  who  lived  in  penury  to  save  her 
scanty  pittance  for  the  education  of  a  darling  son. 

In  his  parochial  duties,  Mrs.  Bloomfield  was  his 
best  assistant,  simply  by  relieving  him  of  all  the  cares 
of  his  family,  which,  if  they  had  devolved  upon  him, 
would  have  checked  or  perhaps  destroyed  his  use- 
fulness. Her  extreme  modesty  gave  her  an  air  of  tim- 
idity that  enhanced  the  interest  she  inspired  when  her 
real  merit  was  known,  for  it  was  felt,  rather  than  seen, 
by  its  happy  results. 

The  small  parsonage  was,  under  her  guidance,  a 
model  of  exquisite  neatness  and  comfort.  The  porches 
with  their  sheltering  vines,  the  roses  and  jasmine  that 
clustered  round  her  doors,  embellished  the  more  sub- 
stantial evidences  of  her  good  management  as  seen  in 
"  kitchen,  parlor  and  hall."  Her  children  were  dis- 
tinguished equally  by  their  faultless  but  scrupulously 
plain  attire  and  their  unobtrusive  manners.  Every 
duty  of  a  housewife  was  at  her  command,  and  the 
snowy  linen  and  bands  of  the  minister  were  always 
the  work  of  her  own  hands.  It  was  even  said  that 
her  industry  supplied  the  leather  gloves  with  which 
his  hands  were  protected,  when  engaged,  as  was  his 
wont,  in  the  culture  of  the  small  garden ;  "for  those 
hands,"  she  said,  "merited  this  peculiar  care,  since 
they  were,  literally  as  well  as  figuratively,  to  dispense 
the  bread  of  life." 

It  was  no  wonder  that  such  a  family  should  have 
been  equally  loved,  respected,  and  sought  by  all  who 
knew  them,  and  they  found  a  cordial  welcome  more 
frequently  than  they  had  leisure  to  avail  themselves 
of  it,  in  every  home  and  in  every  heart. 


MODERN  ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  57 

On  the  return  of  the  family  of  Avonmore  and  their 
visitors  from  church,  Mr.  Melville  was  met  on  the 
steps  by  Johnson,  who  informed  him  that  in  his  ab- 
sence Dr.  Fowler  and  his  family  had  arrived. 

"  You  have  made  them  comfortable,  I  hope,''  said 
Mr.  Melville  to  him. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  my  mother,"  for  Johnson,  though  the 
only  son  of  Mammy,  thought  it  inconsistent  with  his 
usual  elegant  politeness  to  use  the  homely  appella- 
tion bestowed  on  her  by  the  family,  "my  mother 
has  carried  them  to  their  rooms,  sir,  and  I  sent 
for  the  baggage." 

"  Carried  them  to  their  rooms,  and  sent  for  the 
baggage,"  repeated  Vivian  apart  to  Captain  Del- 
amere ;  "  these  words  must  sound  strangely  to  you, 
in  such  use.  Perhaps  you  will  feel  more  inclined  to 
apply  the  latter  word  to  Miss  Kezia,  from  my  father's 
representation  of  the  paternal." 

Constance  and  Evelyn  overheard  him,  and  shook 
their  muffs  threateningly  at  him,  as  they  tripped  up 
the  steps  of  the  portico  and  passed  on  to  throw  off 
their  hats  and  furs.  When  they  entered  the  parlor 
they  were  presented  by  Mr.  Melville  to  the  Doctor 
and  his  family,  who  were  already  there. 

The  Doctor  was  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  a  com- 
plexion like  a  winter  apple  that  had  been  very  com- 
pletely frozen  and  then  very  completely  thawed  again. 
It  was,  in  short,  a  miraculous  assemblage  of  wrinkles 
that  clustered  around  every  feature,  and  especially 
about  his  small  twinkling  gray  eyes,  where  they  were 
magnified  into  "  crows'  feet."  He  wore  an  auburn 
wig,  which  was  apparently  placed  very  loosely  on  his 
3* 


58  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

head,  for  in  animated  conversation  it  was  often  pushed 
from  one  side  to  the  other,  so  as  to  give  no  small  vari- 
ety to  the  depth  and  expression  of  his  ample  forehead. 
That  it  was  indeed  a  wig,  was  put  beyond  a  doubt  by 
small  patches  of  white  hairs  that  seemed  to  take  a 
malicious  pleasure  in  peeping  out,  and  as  it  were,  re- 
proaching the  hypocrisy  of  their  more  youthful  and 
elegant  neighbors.  But,  en  revanche,  and  to  please 
the  taste  of  his  younger  consort,  the  Doctor  had  dyed 
his  whiskers  in  a  color  corresponding  with  the  wig, 
though  with  so  little  precaution,  that  a  streak  of  au- 
burn was  visible  on  the  cheek  beneath  them,  and  the 
operation  seemed  to  have  given  a  tinge,  judging  from 
their  peculiar  color,  to  the  ends  of  his  fingers  in 
performing  it. 

Mrs.  Fowler  was  a  fat,  jolly  woman,  short  in  sta- 
ture, and  with  that  convenient  and  nondescript  col- 
oring generally  denominated  sandy  /  with  hair,  eyes, 
skin,  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  so  perfectly  assorted  as 
to  defy  the  most  critical  observer  to  detect  a  shade 
of  difference.  Her  hair,  which  had  the  very  great 
advantage  of  remaining  young,  because  gray  hairs  are 
as  imperceptible  in  it  as  in  the  coveted  and  admired 
blonde  cendr^e,  was  arranged,  or  rather  drawn  up  to 
the  top  of  her  head  with  fantastic  curls  in  front  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  calmed  down  from  a  recent 
fit  of  insanity  by  "  pouring  oil  upon  the  waves." 

Miss  Kezia  Fowler  was  the  exact  resemblance  of 
her  mother,  only  that  in  face  and  stature  she  was 
smaller  and  slighter.  It  was  the  difference  of  looking 
through  the  opposite  ends  of  a  magnifying  glass. 

They  were  attired  in  the  same  style,  in  different 


MODERN   ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  59 

though  equally  ill  assorted  colors.  A  profusion  of 
finery,  not  over  clean,  gave  them  the  air  of  having  be 
stowed  an  unusual  degree  of  attention  to  the  toilette. 
A  nice  observer  might  have  detected  some  symptoms 
of  either  haste  or  negligence  in  its  completion,  unless 
indeed  the  oriental  hennce  tinge  of  the  finger  ends 
might  be  regarded  as  unusual  attention  to  it.  But 
this  flattering  explanation  of  the-  phenomenon  was 
contradicted  by  dusky  stockings,  a  slip-shod  chaus- 
sure,  and  the  unpardonable  inequality  of  the  upper 
and  under  skirts  of  the  flimsy  fabrics  of  which  both 
dresses  were  composed. 

As  Constance  and  Evelyn  entered  the  room,  they 
exchanged  the  usual  civilities  of  introduction  with  the 
ladies  of  the  Doctor's  family,  and  the  Doctor,  after 
bestowing  on  them  several  pompous  and  elaborate 
bows,  turned  again  to  look  at  a  picture  that  he  was 
contemplating  with  affected  interest. 

"Di  qualo  autore  e  questo  quadro?  who  is  the 
author  of  this  picture  ? "  said  he  to  Vivian  who 
was  standing  near  him,  benignantly  translating  the 
question,  which  he  supposed  the  young  student  would 
not  otherwise  comprehend. 

"  E  una  copia,  Signor,"  replied  Vivian,  quietly. 

The  Doctor  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Das  Kolorik  taugt  nichts — Ha  bisognia  di  essere 
inverniciato,  the  coloring  is  bad  and-  it  requires  var- 
nishing," again  translated  the  Doctor,  with  more  ami- 
ability in  the  explanation  than  politeness  in  the  crit- 
icism of  a  favorite  picture  of  his  host. 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  Doctor, 


GO  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

Vedete  come  6  finito  a  maraviglia !  Quanto  6  fresco 
il  colorito !  "  added  Vivian  with  animation. 

"  Diavolo !  "  muttered  the  Doctor  to  himself, 
uncertain  whether  to  take  Vivian's  reply  in  jest  or 
earnest.  But  the  countenance  on  which  he  turned 
his  scrutinizing  glance  remained  unmoved. 

"  Sie  sprechen  ein  wenig  Deutsch  ?  you  speak  a 
little  German,  perhaps,  also  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  patron- 
izingly, but  supposing  that  here  he  would  be  secure 
from  the  dangers  of  either  rivalry  or  criticism. 

"  Wenn  man  langsam  spricht,  so  verslehe  ich  es 
ein  wenig,"  said  Vivian,  smiling. 

"  I  shall  not  trust  your  wenig,"  said  the  surprised 
Doctor,  relapsing  into  the  vernacular,  and  beginning 
to  fear  that  there  might  be  some  knowledge  of  art  as 
well  as  languages  in  the  quiet  modest  young  man 
whom  he  had  thought  to  overwhelm  with  a  display  of 
superior  modern  accomplishments. 

Mrs.  Fowler  was  engaged  with  equal  success  in 
her  department.  The  Doctor  had  experienced  no 
difficulty  in  convincing  his  fair  spouse  that  she  possessed 
musical  talents  of  the  highest  excellence,  and  inspiring 
her  with  the  firm  belief  that  she  might  have  been  a 
prima  donna  if  her  light  had  not  been  hidden  under  a 
bushel ;  for  this  comparison  always  occurred  to  her, 
when  she  considered  the  limited  circle  to  which  her 
genius  was  confined. 

Miss  Kezia  shared  these  sentiments,  but  quite  as 
much  on  her  own  account  as  her  mother's,  having  an 
estimate  equally  high  of  her  own  powers.  By  degrees 
she  approached  the  piano,  and  turned  over  the  music 
in  a  manner  that  plainly  indicated  her  anticipation  of 


MODEEN   ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  61 

a  request  to  display  her  talent.  Politeness  demanded 
the  request  from  Constance,  who  quietly  declined  a 
preliminary  song  urged  by  Miss  Kezia. 

"  Miss  Melville  is  perhaps  out  of  voice,  Kezia,"  said 
Mrs.  Fowler,  rising  from  her  seat,  "  but  I  think  you 
have  not  so  good  an  excuse,  since  I  heard  you  yester- 
day practising  that  last  pretty  song  of  yours.  Try  it, 
and  I  will  play  the  accompaniment,  and  sing  it  with 
you." 

The  song,  after  a  few  minutes'  absence  on  the  part 
of  Miss  Kezia,  was  produced,  showing  that,  like  a  good 
soldier,  she  was  always  provided  with  ammunition, 
and  ready  to  obey  the  orders  of  the  commander  at 
the  slightest  signal. 

Mrs.  Fowler  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and  took 
off  her  mittens ;  then  removed  several  large  bracelets 
from  her  arms,  and  next  requested  Miss  Kezia  to  take 
especial  care  of  the  rings  which  she  removed  from  her 
fingers,  and  which  Miss  Kezia  secured  by  transferring 
them  to  her  own.  She  then  laid  an  embroidered 
handkerchief,  not  particularly  white,  on  the  piano, 
with  a  small  smelling-bottle  on  the  top  of  it,  and  a 
fan  by  the  side  of  both.  Taking  a  box  from  her  pocket, 
which  she  said  contained  the  finest  lozenges  in  the 
world  for  the  preservation  of  the  voice,  she  requested 
that  one  of  the  gentlemen  would  have  the  goodness 
to  provide  her  with  a  glass  of  water,  which  was 
placed  by  the  side  of  her  pocket-handkerchief,  the 
box,  the  fan,  and  the  smelling-bottle. 

Her  preparations  thus  happily  completed,  Mrs. 
Fowler  began  a  voluntary  prelude  of  interminable 
length,  in  which  syncopes,  staccatos  and  chromatics, 


62  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

adagio,  andant6  and  brillante  were  all  mingled  together 
in  a  heterogenous  jumble,  terminating  in  a  tremendous 
crash.  The  intertwining  voices  that  followed  in  the 
duo,  Malibran  would  have  describe^,  as  she  did  on  a 
similar  occasion,  as  the  "  screams  of  two  tortured  cats." 

During  the  exhibition,  the  Doctor  had  been  standing 
near,  keeping  time  with  a  sheet  of  music  rolled  up, 
and  uttering  a  soft  "  ben6  !  "  as  the  voices  sunk  to  a 
lower  cadence,  or  an  encouraging  "  brava  !  "  as  they 
rose.  Occasionally  during  the  performance  he  added 
some  notes  of  his  own  hi  a  tenor  that  had  as  much 
connection  with  the  air  and  the  time  as  "  the  cat  and  the 
fiddle,"  brought  together  in  so  interesting  and  unex- 
pected a  manner  in  the  ancient  nursery  rhymes.  The 
song  finished,  a  repetition  ensued  of  the  syncop6s,  stac- 
catos and  chromatics,  the  adagio,  andant6  and  brillante, 
and  a  crash,  still  more  tremendous  than  the  first,  con- 
cluded the  performance. 

The  announcement  of  dinner  was  no  small  relief, 
and  every  body  breathed  more  freely  as  Mrs.  Fowler 
resumed  her  rings  and  bracelets,  and  returned  the 
pocket-handkerchief,  box,  fan,  and  smelling-bottle  to 
her  pocket. 

The  exercise  of  her  voice  had  apparently  contrib- 
uted not  a  little  to  her  appetite,  which  did  honor  to 
the  good  cheer  of  Christmas.  Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl, 
jellies,  creams,  ices  and  fruits,  all  disappeared  before 
her  with  marvellous  celerity,  and  the  Doctor  performed 
his  part  in  a  duo  on  the  occasion,  with  far  more  effect 
than  in  the  musical  entertainment  with  which  the 
company  had  been  previously  favored. 

A  slight  shade  was  thrown  over  his  enjoyment, 


MODERN   ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  63 

however  complete,  by  the  recollection  that  he  was 
threatened  with  a  rival  in  his  newly  acquired  studies 
and  accomplishments.  The  renowned  Doctor  Fowler 
might  one  day  be  surpassed  by  a  young  man  that  no- 
body had  yet  heard  of  in  the  literary  or  the  fashionable 
world.  He  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  dislike  to- 
ward Vivian,  and  revolved  in  his  mind  some  projects 
of  retaliation  for  the  ridicule  that  he  began  to  suspect 
Vivian  of  exercising  toward  him.  His  plan  of  attack 
was  formed  just  as  some  of  the  fine  white  celery, 
elsewhere  commended,  was  offered  to  him. 

Helping  himself  to  a  plant  of  the  celery,  which  was 
served  with  the  bud  and  as  large  a  portion  of  the  root 
as  was  admissible  in  its  delicate  preparation  for  the 
table,  he  held  it  up,  and  said  to  Vivian,  "  Sabeis  a 
botanica  ?  do  you  understand  botany  ?  " 

"Alguma  couza  estudeia  segundo  o  metodo  de 
Linneo,"  replied  Vivian,  smiling. 

"  Diame  a  mad !  "  exclaimed  the  Doctor  in  real  en- 
thusiasm at  the  discovery  of  this  new  accomplishment 
in  his  young  rival,  and  seizing  Vivian's  hand,  which 
he  shook  with  unaffected  good  nature.  "  Why,  my 
young  friend,  is  it  possible  that  you  understand  Span- 
ish, as  well  as  Italian  and  German  ?  you  wilf  rival  me 
some  of  these  days  when  you  have  studied  as  much. 
Only  let  me  advise  you  not  to  lose  too  much  time 
with  the  ancients,  as  I  did." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  profit  of  your  advice, 
Doctor,"  said  Vivian,  with  more  respect  than  he  had 
hitherto  manifested,  and  touched  by  this  unexpected 
effusion  of  feeling,  "  but  you  must  pardon  me  for  dif- 
fering with  you  in  your  opinion  of  the  great  masters  of 


64  HOME  AND   THE   WORLD. 

antiquity.  I  have  spent  too  much  of  my  young  life 
in  their  society,  to  give  them  up  for  their  descend- 
ants." 

"  Perhaps  you  may  be  right,"  said  the  Doctor,  with 
a  sigh  of  regret  to  the  memory  of  his  old  friends  and 
companions ;  "  but  the  ladies,  sir,  the  ladies  must  be 
pleased,  and  we  must  cultivate  the  moderns  in  lan- 
guage and  fashions  before  they  can  be  won.  Why, 
my  dear  fellow,  I  should  never  have  been  able  to  win 
a  single  smile  from  Mrs.  Fowler  without  the  aid  of  the 
fine  arts  and  the  modern  tongues.  Trust  me,  you  will 
have  to  modernize  your  ideas  before  you  can  ever 
hope  for  success  with  the  fair." 

The  Doctor  was  interrupted  at  thjs  point,  by  a 
group  of  merry  little  girls  with  Alice  at  their  head, 
who  came  flying  into  the  dining  parlor,  and  were 
soon  appropriated  by  the  lovers  of  innocent  happy 
faces  around  the  table.  All  rational  conversation  was 
at  an  end,  and  every  one  joined  hi  the  childish  glee 
that  had  usurped  the  reins  of  speech  and  action. 

The  company  was  soon  broken  up,  and  they  all 
returned  to  the  parlor.  Alice  was  quickly  busied  with 
her  little  •  companions  around  a  frolicsome  kitten,  a 
Christmas  present  from  "  Aunt  Betty,"  and  they  were 
all  peeping  into  a  small  paper  box  that  contained  the 
pretty  little  ground-squirrel  "  Uncle  Tom  "  had  given 
her,  though,  as  he  remarked  at  the  time,  "  he  knew 
she  would  only  have  the  fun  of  seeing  it  run  away." 

The  little  group  were  consulting  together  on  this 
interesting  topic,  and  after  the  important  when  and 
where  of  the  squirrel's  liberation  was  decided,  Alice 
placed  the  box  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  with  child- 


MODERN   ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  65 

ish  forgetfulness,  left  it  there.  She  was  soon  earnestly 
engaged  in  tying  a  string  to  a  bit  of  brown  paper  that 
was  intended  to  represent  a  mouse. 

While  she  was  thus  occupied,  Mrs.  Fowler,  who 
had  been  making  a  tour  of  observation,  paused  on 
that  side  of  the  room,  and  as  she  had  been  looking 
for  the  most  comfortable  place  in  which  to  establish 
herself  after  a  luxurious  dinner,  selected  the  squirrel's, 
instead  of  the  "  poet's  corner,"  and  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  plumped  with  fatal  precision  exactly 
on  the  paper  box.  A  faint  struggle — a  feeble  squeak 
ensued,  and  the  poor  little  squirrel  was  no  more  ! 

"Oh  my  squirrel! — my  squirrel!"  exclaimed 
Alice.  "Ma'am,  you  sat  down  on  my  poor  little 
squirrel !  Indeed  you  did  !  "  argued  Alice,  as  Mrs. 
Fowler  seemed  quite  unwilling  to  vacate  her  well- 
chosen  seat  for  so  trifling  a  cause.  But  Alice  and  her 
young  companions  pulled  at  her  dress  with  so  little 
ceremony,  that  she  was  compelled  to  yield  to  their 
united  entreaties.  Her  tardy  compliance  came  too 
late, — the  squirrel  was  quite  gone. 

"  What  made  him  die  ?  "  said  poor  little  Alice, 
her  rosy  lip  quivering,  and  her  blue  eyes  filling  with 
large  tears  that  began  to  roll  over  her  cheeks  as  the 
lifeless  favorite  was  taken  out  of  the  box. 

"  He  died  a  natural  death, — the  most  natural 
death  in  the  world,  my  dear,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  as 
you  perceive  that  Mrs.  Fowler  sat  down  upon  him. 
This  squirrel,"  continued  the  Doctor,  holding  him  up 
by  the  tail,  while  Alice  gave  a  faint  shriek  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  mother's  lap,  "  this  squirrel  is  un- 
doubtedly the  true  sciurus  striatus,  though  Buflbn, 


66  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

in  his  '  Animaux  deg6ner6s,'  might  perhaps  class  him 
with  the  rat  of  Madagascar." 

"  It  isrtt  a  rat ! "  exclaimed  Alice  indignantly, 
raising  her  head,  and  shaking  back  the  golden  ring- 
lets that  fell  in  a  shower  round  her  glowing  cheeks. 

Constance,  whose  warm  and  tender  heart  sym- 
pathized in  the  "first  grief"  of  her  sister,  and  in  the 
indignation  she  felt  at  such  cool  contempt  of  her 
childish  sorrow,  was  about  to  relieve  the  Doctor's 
hand  of  the  unfortunate  squirrel,  when  she  suddenly 
changed  her  mind,  and  softly  and  quietly  resumed 
her  seat,  hoping  that  she  perceived  an  avenger  of  his 
wrongs  advancing. 

She  was  not  mistaken.  The  kitten,  which  had 
been  watching  the  Doctor's  movements  with  a  natural 
interest  and  curiosity,  seemed  to  have  made  up  her 
mind  that  Bufibn's  theory  of  Animaux  degmires  was 
correct,  and  that  the  Doctor  was  holding  up  to  her 
view  a  rat  of  Madagascar,  or  a  rat  of  Avonmore, 
which  suited  her  taste  and  science  quite  as  well.  She 
had  climbed  up  with  cat-like  caution  on  the  back  of 
the  Doctor's  chair,  and  seizing,  as  she  thought,  a  pro- 
pitious moment,  made  a  spring  to  reach  the  squirrel. 
A  sudden  movement  of  surprise  on  the  Doctor's  side 
defeated  her  purpose,  and  to  save  herself  from  a  fall, 
she  fastened  her  sharp  claws  in  the  back  of  his  auburn 
wig  ;  her  weight,  slight  as  it  was,  sufficed  to  displace 
it  completely,  and  she  fell  to  the  ground  with  her  un- 
expected prey,  leaving  the  Doctor's  shining  crown 
perfectly  revealed. 

It  was  now  Mrs.  Fowler's  turn  to  shriek,  and  her 
first  impulse  was  to  fly  as  fast  as  her  corpulency  would 


MODERN   ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  67 

allow  to  the  rescue  of  the  deposed  wig;  but  the 
kitten  had  so  completely  entangled  her  claws  in  the 
tresses,  that  kitten,  wig  and  all  disappeared  in  a 
twinkling  beneath  a  piece  of  furniture  in  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  room,  leaving  only  an  auburn  lock  and 
the  end  of  her  tail  visible. 

Mrs.  Fowler  was  compelled  to  resort  to  the  em- 
broidered pocket-handkerchief,  which  she  threw  over 
the  Doctor's  bald  head  with  a  faint  attempt  to  treat 
the  matter  as  a  joke  ;  but  both  were  glad  to  escape 
from  the  room  until  the  mischief  could  be  repaired. 
After  much  coaxing,  puss  was  prevailed  upon  to  relin- 
quish the  wig,  with  which  Miss  Kezia  also  retired. 

Little  Alice  was  consoled  by  a  promise  from 
mammy  to  have  the  squirrel  decently  interred,  and 
by  another  promise  from  Constance  to  write  an 
epitaph  upon  it.  Her  grief  was  soon  forgotten  in 
the  glories  of  the  Christmas  tree,  and  in  the  sweet 
interchange  of  love  and  love's  gifts  between  her  and 
her  little  friends. 

After  such  a  discomfiture,  the  Doctor  seemed  un- 
willing to  prolong  his  stay,  and  his  carriage  was 
ordered  for  the  next  morning. 

When  the  hour  of  departure  arrived,  Mr.  Melville 
and  Vivian  attended  him  and  his  family  to  the  door, 
and  Vivian  assisted  the  Doctor  as  well  as  the  ladies 
into  the  carriage.  The  Doctor  shook  his  hand  warmly. 

"  I  shall  hope  for  your  promised  visit,  my  young 
friend,"  he  said.  "  Beware  of  the  ancients,  and  come 
and  see  me.  Guardi  bene  di  non  mancare. — Bos  Dias ! " 

"  Nol  dimentichero, — vosso  humilde  criado  !  "  re- 
turned Vivian,  with  a  bow  and  smile,  waving  his 
hand  as  the  carriage  drove  off. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

A    CHRISTMAS    PAETY. 

THE  departure  of  Dr.  Fowler  and  his  family  gave 
no  small  relief  to  the  younger  members  of  the  circle 
at  Avonmore,  for  they  were  in  hourly  anticipation  of 
the  arrival  of  the  friends  they  had  invited  to  partici- 
pate in  the  festivities  of  the  happy  season.  Their 
preparations  for  the  comfort  of  their  young  guests 
were  completed,  the  only  preparations  required,  for 
the  joyous  springtide  of  early  life  alone  suffices  to 
float  the  pinnace  on  the  dancing  billows,  and  its 
white  sails  need  not  even  a  freshening  breeze,  when 
it  is  freighted  with  mirth  and  music  and  love. 

The  house  was  soon  filled,  for  party  after  party 
drove  up  after  the  Doctor  took  his  leave,  and  all  was 
welcome,  congratulation,  and  joy. 

It  is  often  remarked  by  strangers  who  visit  our 
shores,  that  in  an  assemblage  of  young  girls  on  this 
side  of  the  water,  "ten  out  of  every  dozen  are 
pretty,"  and  it  may  be  added,  that  in  such  a  number 
one  or  more  would  be  pronounced  beautiful  by  the 
severest  critic. 

On  the  present  occasion  there  was  certainly  no 
departure  from  the  rule  ;  and  arrayed  in  their  gay  and 


A   CHRISTMAS   PARTY.  69 

elegant  attire,  tastefully  adapted  to  the  season,  their 
smiling  faces  brilliant  with  life  and  hope,  these  fail- 
ones  were  all  so  charming,  that  a  parterre  of  the 
sweetest  and  loveliest  flowers  of  every  variety  would 
offer  a  comparison  too  tame  to  give  a  just  idea  of  the 
group. 

They  had  all  exercised  some  influence  in  the  selec- 
tion of  the  young  cavaliers  who  favored  the  party 
with  their  presence,  as  a  council  had  been  previously 
held  for  the  purpose,  and  a  correspondence  as  intri- 
cate as  that  which  history  attributes  to  the  cabal  of 
Charles  the  Second  and  the  ministers  of  Louis 
Quatorze,  though  less  diplomatic  and  certainly  far 
more  innocent,  had  been  diligently  carried  on  for 
several  weeks  among  the  members  of  the  council  on 
this  important  subject. 

We  shall  not  attempt  a  detailed  account  of  the 
amusements  or  the  conversation  of  several  consecutive 
days  that  flew  by  as  "  on  a  dove's  wing,  unsoiled  and 
swift,  and  of  a  silken  sound." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  from  the  merriment 
with  which  the  old  halls  resounded,  that  it  might  be 
said  of  our  young  party  in  the  words  of  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  and  rather  malicious  words  for  so 
amiable  a  personage,  that  "  what  was  wanting  in  wit 
was  made  up  in  laughter."  On  the  contrary,  if  there 
was  much  laughter,  there  was  wit  to  draw  it  forth, 
and  the  lively  sally  was  always  promptly  met  by  the 
brilliant  repartee. 

Music  was  a  never-failing  resource,  and  there  were 
some  of  this  happy  band  who,  as  we  have  already 


70  HOME   AND   THE   WOKLD. 

affirmed,  might  have  done  honor  by  their  superior 
talent  to  any  society  or  to  any  salon. 

The  long  evenings  were  the  favorite  time  for  their 
gayer  amusements,  and  tableaux  vivants,  charades  and 
dialogues  afforded  a  never-failing  variety.  But  the 
latter,  as  they  imagined,  required  more  time  and  re- 
flection in  their  composition  and  arrangement  than 
they  had  leisure  or  patience  to  bestow  on  them,  and 
a  deputation  was  despatched  to  Mrs.  Melville  to  put 
her  ingenuity  in  requisition  for  the  task  of  preparation. 
She  was  soon  completely  surrounded.  Two  of  the 
deputies  seated  themselves  on  footstools  before  her, 
two  were  at  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  she  was  im- 
prisoned on  either  side.  The  seige  was  so  regularly 
conducted,  that  a  capitulation  was  inevitable. 

"  You  have  all  more  wit  for  the  task  you  impose 
upon  me  than  I  possess,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  for  there 
is  far  more  histrionic  talent  in  your  party  than  you 
imagine,  though  it  has,  perhaps,  never  been  developed. 
Any  one  of  you  could  contrive  the  outline  of  a  dia- 
logue that  would  serve  to  amuse  you  for  half  the 
evening,  if  filled  up  by  good  improvisation,  such,  as 
I  am  sure,  there  is  genius  enough  assembled  here  to 
supply. 

"  Suppose,  for  example,  we  were  to  fancy  a  very 
pompous  old  gentleman  as  guardian  to  a  beautiful 
young  heiress  ;  her  wealth  entirely  under  his  control, 
unless  he  forfeits  his  guardianship  by  making  love  to 
her.  She  is  living  with  an  old  maiden  aunt,  who  is 
jealous  of  the  charms  of  her  lovely  niece,  and  has, 
moreover,  rather  a  penchant  for  the*  old  guardian. 
The  beautiful  young  heiress,  of  course,  has  a  charm- 


A   CHRISTMAS   PARTY.  71 

ing  young  lover,  and  the  old  maiden  aunt,  of  course, 
has  a  pert  little  waiting  woman.  The  young  lover 
naturally  has  one  friend,  and  the  young  heiress  has 
two.  These  will  be  quite  enough  for  your  dramatis 
persome.  Now  let  us  imagine  how  they  are  to  de- 
velop the  story  in  the  dialogues. 

"  The  young  lover  and  his  friend  may  first  appear, 
and  give  some  explanation  of  the  relations  between 
the  guardian  and  the  heiress.  This  is  quickly  done, 
as  the  friend  knows  ah1  about  the  conditions  of  the 
guardianship.  They  retire,  and  the  old  maiden  aunt 
enters  and  seats  herself  by  the  table  on  which  her 
niece  has  left  her  books  and  work-bag.  The  old  lady 
makes  disparaging  remarks  on  her  niece  and  her 
various  accomplishments,  contrasting  them  with  her 
own  superior  merits.  In  pulling  a  piece  of  embroidery 
from  the  work-bag,  a  letter  drops  out.  She  seizes  it, 
and  discovers,  as  may  be  supposed,  that  it  is  from  the 
lover.  She  makes  many  threats  to  break  up  such  a 
correspondence,  but  replaces  the  letter. 

"  At  this  point  the  lovely  niece  enters.  The  old 
lady  ingeniously  makes  mischief  by  false  represen- 
tations of  remarks  made  of  the  young  lady  by  her 
lover,  and  departs  triumphantly,  leaving  her  niece  in 
despair  with  her  face  hid  in  her  hands  and  her  elbows 
on  the  table. 

"  In  this  attitude  of  despondency  the  lover  finds  her 
as  he  enters.  He  lays  an  officer's  hat  and  sword  on 
another  table,  and  approaches.  Of  course,  a  lover's 
quarrel  ensues,  but  is  speedily  followed  by  explana- 
tions and  a  reconciliation,  in  token  of  which  the  lover 
may  presume  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the  heiress. 


72  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

"  Their  very  interesting  conversation  is  interrupted 
by  the  little  waiting-maid,  who  rushes  in,  and  in  great 
agitation,  and  with  many  appropriate  malapropisms 
announces  as  a  visitor  no  other  than  the  pompous  old 
guardian.  Escape  is  impossible,  and  the  lover,  after 
some  preliminary  remarks,  is  advised  by  the  little 
waiting-maid  to  'congeal  himself  behind  the  sofy,' 
and  not  to  '  absquatulate '  until  she  gives  the  signal. 

"  The  guardian,  after  some  premonitory  raps  with 
his  gold-headed  cane  at  the  door,  enters, — grand, 
pompous,  and  profuse  in  old-fashioned  compliments  to 
his  beautiful  ward. 

"  The  little  waiting-maid  tries  in  vain  to  persuade 
him  that  his  visit  was  intended  for  the  aunt,  who  is 
gone  out,  and  she  manifests  great  uneasiness  at  the 
position  of  affairs.  The  old  guardian  magnificently 
attends  "  Mrs.  Abigail "  to  the  door  and  turns  her 
out.  In  departing,  she  threatens,  aside,  to  go  and 
bring  the  two  young  ladies,  the  friends  of  the  heiress, 
to  break  up  this  '  nice  reference? 

"  Meantime  the  guardian  seats  himself  near  his 
lovely  ward.  She  recedes.  He  edges  a  little  nearer. 
She  recedes  again.  He  reproaches  her  coolness,  and 
ends  with  a  flourishing  declaration  of  love,  which  ter- 
minates in  his  falling  stiffly  on  both  knees  before  her. 

"At  this  interesting  juncture  the  little  waiting- 
maid  appears,  accompanied  by  the  two  friends  of  her 
young  lady.  The  guardian,  with  some  difficulty,  rises 
from  his  kneeling  posture,  with  the  aid  of  the  sofa  on 
which  he  had  been  previously  seated. 

"  The  two  friends  of  the  heiress  are  saucy  girls, 
who  pretend  to  take  no  notice  of  the  guardian,  while 


A   CHEISTMAS   PARTY.  73 

they  fly  up  to  his  ward,  embrace  her  with  a  profusion 
of  pretty  compliments,  and  converse  on  the  subject 
of  a  charming  concert  at  Mrs.  SingwelVs.  They  give 
a  specimen  of  the  music,  by  singing  one  of  the  airs  of 
the  proposed  concert,  en  duo.  The  old  guardian,  in 
the  mean  time,  is  swelling  with  suppressed  anger, 
which  manifests  itself  in  a  haughty  and  sarcastic  reply 
to  a  remark  made  to  him  by  one  of  the  friends,  who 
banters  him  about  the  maiden  aunt. 

"  Here  the  young  lover  sneezes,  behind  the  sofa. 
Every  body  starts.  The  waiting-maid  runs  forward  to 
explain  that  '  it  was  the  cat  that  sneezed.'  The 
heiress  and  her  friends  affect  to  be  of  the  same  opin- 
ion, and  all  call  eagerly  upon  puss,  who  is  supposed  to 
be  under  the  sofa.  But  the  guardian  is  indignant  at 
the  attempted  imposition,  mimics  them,  and  at  the 
same  moment  spies  out  the  officer's  hat  and  sword, 
and  inquires  if  the  cat  had  worn  those  articles  and 
left  them  there  ?  One  of  the  girls  immediately  un- 
dertakes to  convince  him  that  the  officer's  hat  is  a 
new-fashioned  flower-pot  she  had  just  sent  her  friend, 
and  the  other,  holding  the  sword  upright  hi  the  hat, 
insists  that  it  is  only  a  prop  for  the  flowers  to 
grow  upon. 

"  The  guardian  represses  his  rage,  but,  fearing  to 
lose  his  dignity  by  a  refutation  of  such  absurdities, 
flies  to  the  fire  and  begins  to  stir  it  furiously.  The 
girls  and  his  ward  surround  him,  entreating  him  to 
'  be  calm ' — '  composed ' — '  not  to  lose  his  temper.' 

"  He  then  loses  all  patience ;  freely  bestows  the 
epithets  of  '  mischievous  ! '  — '  good-for-nothing  ! '  — 
'  baggages ! ' — and  at  every  expletive  gives  a  flourish 
4 


74  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

of  the  tongs  around  their  heads.  At  length,  he  brings 
the  tongs  so  nearly  in  contact  with  the  head  of  his  fair 
ward,  that  the  lover  flies  from  his  hiding-place  and 
arrests  the  guardian's  arm. 

"  The  guardian,  still  panting  with  rage,  wishes  to 
know  cto  what  fortunate  circumstance  they  are  in- 
debted for  the  honor  of  the  lover's  company  ?  ' 

"  Explanations  ensue.  The  lover's  friend  and  the 
old  aunt  enter.  The  guardian  is  convicted  of  having 
made  love  to  his  ward,  by  which  he  forfeits  all  control 
over  her  and  her  estates.  The  heiress  offers  her  aunt 
a  noble  dowry,  and  presents  the  hand  of  the  aunt  to 
the  guardian,  who,  with  this  inducement,  gallantly 
accepts  it.  The  lover  is,  of  course,  made  happy,  and 
the  piece  is  concluded." 

"  Capital ! "  exclaimed  the  deputies  all  together. 
"  But  how  are  we  to  dispose  of  the  characters  in  the 
piece  ? " 

"  Constance  shall  be  the  lovely  heiress ! "  was  the 
unanimous  sentiment. 

"  I  think  I  should  succeed  better  as  the  old  aunt," 
said  Constance,  "  if  you  will  allow  me  to  choose  my 
part." 

"  I  enter  my  protest  against  any  such  arrange- 
ment," said  Captain  Delamere. 

"Then  Miss  Walsingham  will  perhaps  take  the 
young  heiress,  and  you  will  be  the  lover,  Captain 
Delamere,"  said  one  of  the  deputies.  "  The  officer's 
hat  and  sword  point  plainly  to  you." 

A  shade  passed  over  Captain  Delamere's  handsome 
face.  "  You  must  pardon  me,"  he  said ;  "  I  cannot 
venture  to  represent  such  sentiments.  A  soldier  and 


A   CHBISTMAS  PARTY.  75 

a  wanderer  as  I  am,  I  must  be  doomed  to  single- 
blessedness.  c  O  what  have  I  to  do  with  love  ! ' "  he 
added  more  gayly.  "  I  should  prefer  the  part  of  the 
lover's  friend." 

"  "Why  should  not  Vivian  take  the  lover's  part, 
then?"  said  Constance  with  an  arch  glance  at  her 
brother  ;  "  and  I  will  represent  one  of  the  friends  of 
the  young  heiress.  I  think  I  have  a  song  that  can  be 
introduced  with  charming  effect,  as  the  one  to  be  pro- 
duced at  Mrs.  Singwell's  concert.  Anna,  you  will 
take  the  other,  will  you  not  ?  that  arrangement  will 
suit  exactly." 

The  proposition  was  received  with  acclamation, 
and  so  far  the  characters  of  the  piece  were  dis- 
posed of. 

"But  you  have  not  yet  decided  on  the  most 
important  personage  of  all,"  said  Mrs.  Melville; 
. "  who  is  to  represent  the  guardian,  the  hero  of  the 
piece  ?  " 

All  eyes  were  immediately  turned  toward  Mr. 
Melville.  He  was  deeply  engaged  in  reading  a  philo- 
sophical pamphlet  he  had  that  morning  received  by 
the  post,  and  marking  with  his  pencil  the  most  strik- 
ing passages,  entirely  abstracted  from  the  mingled 
voices  and  merry  laughter  that  surrounded  him. 

As  quick  as  thought  he  was  surrounded  by  the 
deputies,  who  alighted  around  him  like  a  flock  of  wild 
pigeons, — at  his  feet,  at  the  back  of  his  large  easy 
chair,  and  one  perched  on  each  of  its  arms. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Melville !  my  dear  uncle !  we  have 
a  request,  a  very  particular  request,  indeed,  to  make  ; 
a  favor  to  ask ! " 


76  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  Ladies,  I  surrender  at  discretion,"  said  Mr.  Mel- 
ville, putting  down  his  pamphlet.  "  Pray  what  would 
you  have  ?  "  he  added,  bestowing  a  gentle  pat  of  en- 
couragement on  the  shining  heads  below  him,  while 
he  received  in  turn  an  encouraging  kiss  on  each  cheek 
from  the  pretty  nieces  perched  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair. 

"  Why  nothing  in  the  world,"  said  Anna,  explain- 
ing the  story  which  Mr.  Melville  had  lost  while  ab- 
sorbed in  his  pamphlet,  "  but  that  you  will  take  the 
part  of  the  guardian  in  our  piece.  Nobody  can  do  it 
so  well." 

"  My  dear  children,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  "  how  can 
you  ask  me  to  do  any  thing  so  absurd  and  undig- 
nified ?  Vivian  will  do  quite  as  well  if  you  will  only 
put  a  wig  upon  him." 

"  But  Vivian  has  his  part,"  expostulated  Anna. 
"And  nobody  can  be  the  guardian  but  your  own< 
dear  self." 

"  Because  you  think  I  am  old,  and  cross,  and  stiff, 
and  pompous,  eh  ? "  said  Mr.  Melville.  *'  Well,  I 
consent  to  sacrifice  my  dignity  at  the  shrine  of  Momus 
for  once,  but  on  one  condition,"  he  added,  with  a  sly 
glance  at  Mrs.  Melville. 

"  Any  conditions  shall  be  fulfilled.  I  promise  that 
without  scruple,"  said  Anna. 

"  Then  the  condition  I  exact  is,  that  Mrs.  Melville 
shall  take  the  part  of  the  old  maiden  aunt.  The 
story,  as  I  understand  it,  ends  by  her  union  in  the 
bands  of  Hymen  with  the  old  guardian ;  so  the  part 
will  be  particularly  appropriate  for  her.  On  these 
terms  alone,  I  give  my  consent  to  the  arrangement." 


A   CHEISTMAS  PARTY.  77 

Mrs.  Melville  in  vain  protested  against  the  pro- 
ceeding. She  found  that  she  had  been  caught  in  a 
net  of  lier  own  weaving,  and  the  meshes  were  so 
dexterously  entwined  about  her,  that  a  fly  might 
have  made  its  escape  more  easily  from  a  spider's 
web.  She  yielded  with  a  good  grace,  the  more  read- 
ily, because  it  gave  her  no  trouble  to  personate  an 
ideal  of  her  own  creation. 

The  rehearsal  was  next  to  be  arranged. 

"  Miss  Walsingham,  we  will  resign  this  parlor  to 
you  and  your  cavalier,"  said  Anna.  "  The  rest  of  us 
can  prepare  our  parts  separately,  until  your  interview 
with  your  guardian."  And  they  all  departed,  leaving 
Vivian  and  Evelyn  alone. 

Evelyn  sat  for  some  minutes  with  her  eyes  turned 
on  the  paper  on  which  her  portion  of  the  dialogue 
was  written.  Vivian  held  that  which  Anna  had  given 
him  in  his  hand.  His  thoughts  seemed  far,  very  far 
from  it.  As  he  approached  her,  Evelyn's  transparent 
cheek  gradually  assumed  the  deepening  tinge  of  rose 
that  diffuses  itself  at  sunrise  over  the  Alpine  snow. 
She  raised  her  blue  eyes,  and  they  met  his.  Oh  what 
a  world  of  love  was  in  the  depths  of  those  eyes ! 

But  the  mischievous  Anna  closed  the  door  at  that 
very  moment,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  was  the 
actual  result  of  the  interview.  When*  it  was  again 
opened,  Vivian  was,  according  to  his  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme, kissing  the  white  hand  Evelyn  had  aban- 
doned to  him,  as  her  part  required,  in  token  of  recon- 
ciliation after  the  lovers'  quarrel  in  the  piece. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

A    SHADE    ON    THE    PICTUBE. 

A  HIATUS  must  be  imagined  between  the  present 
chapter  and  our  last,  simply  because  the  termination 
of  any  social  reunion  is  never  so  agreeable  as  its 
beginning  or  its  progress.  We  will  therefore  pass 
over  the  many  affectionate  adieus,  and  often  exacted 
and  repeated  promises  of  the  young  friends  to  con- 
tinue an  interchange  of  visits  and  correspondence. 

Mr.  Walsingham,  whose  visit,  as  Captain  Dela- 
mere  had  explained  to  Evelyn,  had  been  unexpect- 
edly delayed,  arrived  on  the  last  day  of  the  festival, 
and  was  welcomed  with  enthusiasm  by  the  family  as 
well  as  his  lovely  daughter. 

The  intimate  acquaintance  and  perfect  confidence 
established  between  Mr.  Walsingham  and  Mr.  Mel- 
ville needed  no  more  substantial  proof  than  the 
Christmas  visit  of  Evelyn  to  Avonmore,  for  she  was 
her  father's  darling,  and  the  pride  and  delight  of  his 
existence. 

A  similarity  of  tastes,  and  still  more  of  feeling, 
united  the  two  friends  more  closely.  Both  had  seen 
much  of  the  world,  yet  neither  was  worldly.  They 
had  only  profited  by  their  superior  advantages  to  com- 


A   SHADE   ON  THE  PICTURE.  79 

pare  men  and  manners,  to  enlarge  their  sphere  of  action 
and  of  usefulness,  and  had  learned  to  look  indulgently 
on  the  narrow-mindedness  of  those  who  had  been 
less  favored  than  themselves,  and  whose  oblique 
vision  could  be  made  to  look  only  in  one  direction. 

They  were  equally  indulgent  in  all  the  charities 
and  amenities  of  life  ;  and  when  his  intercourse  with 
the  world  brought  him  in  contact  with  pompous  arro- 
gance or  finical  affectation,  and  even  when  all  the 
bounds  of  good  manners  and  good  taste  were  ex- 
ceeded in  his  presence,  Mr.  Walsingham  was  heard 
quietly  to  observe,  "  the  man  acted  according  to  his 
light,  he  knew  no  better."  In  his  dignified  and  ele- 
gant, but  modest  deportment,  such  persons  would 
hardly  have  recognized  a  man  who  had  been  distin- 
guished at  the  brilliant  court  of  the  first  Napoleon, 
and  received  as  an  equal  by  the  nobility  of  England. 

Like  Mr.  Melville,  Mr.  Walsingham  could  not 
only  forgive  the  playfulness  of  light-hearted  youth, 
but  encourage  it  by  his  presence  ;  and  far  from  exer- 
cising any  restraint  over  the  young  party,  he  had 
been  an  amused  spectator  of  their  innocent  gayety. 

"  I  regret,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Melville,  when  taking 
his  leave,  "  that  I  came  so  late,  and  must  depart  so 
soon  ;  but  I  was  delayed  by  unforeseen  events,  and  I 
must  redeem  my  promise  to  Evelyn  to  show  her 
something  of  the  "  sunny  South "  at  a  season  when 
the  rigors  of  a  northern  clime  render  our  own  home 
less  attractive.  I  remember  well  my  enjoyment,  on 
a  former  occasion,  of  the  verdure  of  spring  in  the 
midst  of  magnolias  and  evergreen  oaks,  when  I  had 
left  all  at  home  covered  with  snow.  You  have  the 


80  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

advantage  of  a  shorter  season  of  winter  here,  but 
the  South,  as  we  understand  it,  lies  far  beyond  you." 
"  Your  visit  to  us,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  recalls 
the  recollection  of  the  regrets  with  which  the  reign 
of  Henri  Quatre, 

'  Qui  commengait  trop  tard  et  trop  tot  terminait,' 

was  commemorated.  But  we  hope  that  as  it  termi- 
nates under  happier  auspices  than  those  which  at- 
tended the  French  monarch,  it  will  be  renewed  as 
soon  as  our  spring  returns." 

Captain  Delamere  took  his  leave  at  the  same  time. 
His  fine  eyes  glistened  with  sensibility  as  he  paid  his 
parting  compliments,  and  though  his  words  were 
few,  they  expressed  with  sincere  and  cordial  feeling 
his  gratification  at  the  warm  and  hospitable  reception 
he  had  met  with  at  Avonmore. 

After  the  revelation  at  the  conclusion  of  the  last 
chapter,  our  reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  a  short  time  only  elapsed  before  Vivian  dis- 
covered some  weighty  reason  for  following  the  same 
route  that  our  travellers  were  pursuing,  and  the 
household  of  Avonmore  was  thus  reduced  to  smaller 
dimensions  than  usual. 

Mrs.  Melville  felt  some  solicitude,  lest  the  calm 
that  so  suddenly  succeeded  the  merry  days  passed 
with  her  young  friends  should  exercise  a  depressing 
influence  on  the  spirits  of  Constance. 

"  I  can  easily  divine  your  thoughts,  dear  mamma," 
said  Constance  one  morning,  when,  in  spite  of  the 
coldness  of  the  day,  a  bright  sunshine  had  tempted 
them  to  a  rapid  walk  around  the  lawn.  "  I  have  seen 


A   SHADE   ON  THE  PICTUBE.  81 

you  watching  me  with  the  tenderest  solicitude  ever 
since  my  young  friends  left  me.  You  think  I  miss 
them,  and  I  confess  I  do.  But  as  much  as  I  love 
them  and  enjoy  their  society,  I  know  that  they  are 
all  going  back  to  happy  homes,  and  we  hope  to  meet 
again  before  very  long,  so  that  there  is  nothing  to 
grieve  any  of  us." 

"  You  are  a  sweet  child,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  sur- 
prised into  an  expression  that  might  have  awakened 
some  little  feeling  of  vanity  in  her  lovely  daughter, 
"  and  your  philosophical  view  of  your  past  happiness 
and  present  limited  enjoyments  relieves  the  solicitude 
I  really  felt,  and  which  you  detected.  Can  you  then 
be  quite  happy  alone  with  me  ?  " 

"  Happy !  "  replied  Constance,  laughing,  "  why, 
my  dear  mamma,  I  really  think  I  am  happier  when 
alone  with  you  than  at  any  other  time.  You  may 
not  think  it  very  flattering  to  your  superior  wisdom 
and  experience,  but  I  find  nobody  who  sympathizes 
in  all  my  thoughts  and  feelings  as  you  do,  and  there 
is  no  one  with  whom  I  can  converse  so  pleasantly." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  more  flattered  by  your 
preference  for  my  society  than  by  any  compliment 
the  world  could  pay  me,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  tenderly 
pressing  the  arm  that  was  linked  in  hers.  "  I  am 
most  happy  in  the  hope  that  you  will  always  look 
upon  me  as  a  friend  and  companion." 

"  Of  that  you  may  be  assured,  dearest  mother," 
replied  Constance.  "  If  I  should  ever  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  get  into  any  difficulties,  you  may  be  certain 
that  you  will  be  my  first  confidante  and  adviser." 

"  Then  I  do  not  apprehend  any  difficulties,"  said 
4* 


82  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

Mrs.  Melville,  "  for  such  a  resolution  is  the  best  way 
to  avoid  them.  The  misfortunes  of  young  people 
chiefly  arise  from  a  want  of  confidence  in  those  who 
could  be  their  best  counsellors.  People,  as  they 
begin  to  grow  old,  look  with  coldness  on  the  enthu- 
siasm of  youth,  or  feel  unwilling  to  allow  any  thing 
for  their  inexperience.  Their  anxiety  to  see  their 
children  all  perfection  leads  them  to  be  severe  and 
censorious ;  a  habit  of  sharp  rebuke  and  cutting  re- 
partee is  gradually  formed,  when  gentleness  and 
courtesy  on  both  sides  can  alone  bind  those  hearts 
together  that,  under  other  influences,  are  daily  be- 
coming more  and  more  estranged." 

"  I  cannot  complain  that  this  has  been  my  lot,"  said 
Constance,  looking  up  at  her  loved  companion  with  a 
smile  of  confidence  and  affection.  "  You  have  al- 
ways been  tender  and  indulgent  to  me." 

"  Not  always  when  you  were  a  mischievous  little 
fairy,"  said  her  mother  smiling  in  turn.  "  You  have 
forgotten  how  severely  I  lectured  you  for  sometimes 
playing  the  enfant  terrible.  And  do  you  remember 
how  I  remonstrated  with  you  one  day  when  you  in- 
vited a  bashful  young  gentleman  and  an  equally 
bashful  young  lady,  who  it  was  thought  had  rather  a 
penchant  for  each  other,  to  go  into  the  parlor,  telling 
the  gentleman  that  papa  wished  to  speak  with  him, 
and  the  lady  that  mamma  desired  an  interview  with 
her ;  and  when  in  some  agitation  and  wondering  what 
this  strange  summons  from  so  grave  a  quarter  could 
mean,  they  met  at  the  appointed  hour,  you  shut  the 
door  on  them,  and  ran  away,  calling  the  jest  &poisson 
cfravril. 


A   SHADE   ON   THE   PICTURE.  83 

"And  at  another  time,  you  determined  to  punish 
a  lady  of  our  acquaintance  who  had  a  particularly 
acute  sense  of  hearing,  so  acute  indeed,  that  you  al- 
ways said  she  heard  more  than  any  body  else.  When 
a  young  gentleman  who  was  not  previously  acquainted 
with  this  lady,  had  a  message  from  one  of  her  friends 
to  deliver  to  her,  you  informed  him  very  demurely 
that  the  lady  was  extremely  deaf,  that  he  would  have 
to  approach  her  very  near,  and  speak  as  loud  as  pos- 
sible to  make  her  hear.  And  as  this  voice  of  thunder 
was  poured  into  her  sensitive  ear  like  a  broadside, 
with  what  apparent  terror  she  started  from  her  seat, 
to  the  infinite  amusement  of  a  room  full  of  young 
people,  with  whom  she  was  not  at  all  a  favorite  ?  Do 
you  remember  these  and  similar  offences,  for  which  I 
used  to  lecture  you  ?  " 

"But,  mamma,"  said  Constance  deprecatingly, 
though  she  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  consternation  her  childish  propensities 
had  created,  "  you  know  I  was  then  very  young ;  but 
I  confess  you  were  right  to  put  an  end  to  such  pranks, 
as  they  involved  an  aberration  from  the  truth." 

"  You  are  older  and  wiser  now,  my  daughter," 
said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  and  there  is  no  danger  of  lec- 
tures from  me  on  any  subject.  But  you  will  often 
have  need  of  advice,  and  you  may  profit  of  my  ex- 
perience before  you  acquire  your  own.  But  there  is 
Mammy  waiting  to  speak  to  us.  I  hope  Henny  is 
better  to-day,  is  she  not  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Melville. 

"  No  ma'am,"  replied  Mammy,  "  I'm  afraid  not, 
and  she  asked  me  just  now  if  you  would  be  so  good 
as  to  come  and  see  her." 


84  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

Henny  was  the  only  surviving  daughter  of  Mam- 
my, and  was  naturally  regarded  by  her  mother  and 
the  family  with  peculiar  interest,  as  her  successor  in 
due  time  to  the  honors  of  her  position. 

She  would  have  been  eminently  worthy  of  the 
trust,  for  she  possessed  an  unusual  degree  of  intelli- 
gence, united  with  a  gentle  and  docile  temper,  and 
had  eagerly  profited  by  the  advice  and  the  teaching 
she  had  received.  She  was  about  the  age  of  Con- 
stance, and  had  availed  herself  of  the  childish  lessons 
of  her  young  mistress  to  accomplish  herself  in  read- 
ing. Mrs.  Melville  had  made  this  discovery  on  one 
occasion  when  she  was  ill,  and  the  little  handmaiden, 
in  a  soft  and  musical  voice,  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible, 
having  first  modestly  asked  her  permission.  This 
heightened  the  interest  already  felt  in  her,  and  the 
child  had  grown  up  into  a  girl  of  sound  principles, 
good  dispositions,  and  deep  religious  impressions. 

Mrs.  Melville  saw  with  concern  that  her  health 
was  gradually  declining  under  the  influence  of  a  slow 
but  fatal  malady  that  had  caused  the  early  death  of 
her  father.  For  two  years  she  had  been  watched 
over  and  attended  with  all  the  care  that  the  best 
medical  aid  and  ceaseless  kindness  could  afford.  But 
all  seemed  unavailing,  and  she  had  been  for  some 
months  unable  to  leave  her  mother's  cottage. 

Mrs.  Melville  immediately  granted  her  request, 
and  accompanied  by  Constance,  she  followed  Mammy 
to  her  daughter's  bedside. 

Poor  Henny  was  lying  very  quietly  as  if  asleep, 
and  looked  up  feebly  as  Mrs.  Melville  and  Constance 
approached.  A  ray  of  pleasure  played  on  her  dark  face. 


A   SHADE   ON  THE  PICTTJEE.  85 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  ma'am,  to  come  so  soon, 
whenever  I  send  to  ask  you,"  she  said,  "  and  Miss 
Constance  too.  I  like  might'ly  to  see  you  both." 

"  Certainly  we  will  come  whenever  you  ask  to  see 
us,  Henny ;  but  you  are  better  to-day  I  hope ;  you 
seem  very  quiet." 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  am  no  better,"  she  replied.  "  I 
shall  not  be  any  better  until  I  go  home.  But  I  am 
ready  now  when  my  Saviour  calls,  and  I  feel  as  if  he 
would  call  me  very  soon." 

"  Is  there  any  thing  you  would  like  that  we  can 
do  for  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Melville. 

Henny  waited  a  moment  and  then  said,  "Yes, 
ma'am,  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Alice  once  more." 

Little  Alice  soon  came,  and  the  poor  girl  looked 
fixedly  at  her  for  some  minutes. 

"  She  looks  like  the  angels  I  see  in  my  dreams 
ma'am,"  she  said,  and  she  kissed  the  little  hand  freely 
extended  to  her.  "  My  dreams  are  a  great  comfort 
to  me,"  she  continued,  still  addressing  herself  to  Mrs. 
Melville.  "  I  often  see  angels  all  in  white  with  shining 
wings  and  golden  crowns,  and  sometimes  I  see  you 
among  them.  Last  night  I  saw  you  as  plainly  as  I 
see  you  now,  and  you  were  among  those  angels,  and 
in  a  white  shining  garment,  as  they  were." 

Mrs.  Melville  could  not  trust  her  voice  to  speak 
for  some  moments.  She  then  asked  if  Henny  had 
any  other  request  to  make. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  should  like  to  hear  Miss  Con- 
stance sing  once  more  one  of  those  sweet  hymns  you 
taught  me  when  I  was  a  little  child  in  the  Sunday 
school." 


86  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

The  request  was  willingly  complied  with,  and 
Henny  said  she  had  only  one  more  wish, — that  Mrs. 
Melville  would  read  the  verses  beginning  with  "  Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled." 

Ah,  how  many  thorns  have  been  removed  from 
the  pillow  of  the  departing  pilgrim  of  life's  journey 
by  those  heavenly  words ! 

Mr.  Bloomfield  readily  came  at  Mrs.  Melville's  re- 
quest to  visit  his  humble  parishioner. 

"  I  have  never,"  he  said,  "  seen  the  evidences  of  a 
brighter  and  purer  faith  than  are  manifested  in  this 
poor  girl.  The  '  wise  and  noble '  might  learn  a  lesson 
of  true  wisdom  in  her  perfect  and  childlike  confidence, 
and  in  the  resignation  and  even  the  joy  she  expresses 
in  the  hope  of  entering  into  her  rest." 

Poor  Henny  died  that  night,  and  the  family  fol- 
lowed her  to  her  last  resting-place  at  the  cemetery  in 
the  grove  of  evergreen  trees.  Many  tears  were  shed 
over  her  early  grave,  and  her  mother  was  regarded 
with  more  kindness  than  ever,  in  consequence  of  the 
sympathy  her  affliction  elicited. 


CHAPTER    Vin. 

A   BRIDAL. 

SPRING  had  returned ;  the  balmy  season  that  poets 
love  to  sing  and  artists  to  paint ;  when  nature  puts 
on  her  freshest  "  robe  of  universal  green,"  and  new 
health  and  life  are  awakened  by  the  "  vernal  airs 
breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove." 

Happily  there  are  some  "  flowers  of  paradise  "  yet 
unsung,  for  every  clime  has  its  peculiar  graces  at  this 
fairest  portion  of  the  varied  year.  One  of  our  own 
authors  has  justly  and  beautifully  said  that  "  while 
every  insignificant  hill  and  turbid  stream  of  classic 
Europe  have  been  hallowed  by  the  visitations  of  the 
muse,  and  contemplated  with  fond  enthusiasm,  our 
lofty  mountains  and  noble  rivers  raise  their  majestic 
heads  and  roll  their  waters  unheeded,  because  un- 
sung." Our  humble  muse  dares  not  attempt  a 
range  so  extended,  and  would  shrink  from  themes  of 
such  grandeur  and  magnificence.  A  scene  of  quiet 
loveliness  is  all  that  her  unaspiring  song  would  com- 
memorate. 

The  same  author  mentions  a  peculiar  feature  of 
our  grand  indigenous  forests,  in  a  huge  vine  that  had 


88  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

enclasped  an  oak,  and  entwined  itself  around  the 
stately  tree  so  completely  that  it  might  have  been 
imagined  "  The  Lion  of  trees,  perishing  in  the  em- 
braces of  a  vegetable  Boa." 

This  had  not  been  the  fate  of  any  of  the  fine  old 
oaks  that  composed  the  Tarleton  wood  at  Avonmore, 
and  whose  giant  arms,  as  we  last  saw  them,  were 
stretching  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  wintry  sky. 
They  were  now  in  all  the  pride  of  spring,  and  waving 
in  graceful  foliage.  The  vines  had  happily  indulged 
in  a  salutary  caprice  in  their  attachments,  and  had 
clambered  from  tree  to  tree,  forming  festoons  and 
draperies  and  leafy  canopies,  in  every  direction ;  and 
the  air  was  laden  with  the  rich  perfume  that  exhaled 
from  their  tender  blossoms. 

The  velvet  green  of  the  lawn  was  relieved  by  the 
"  pendant  shades  "  of  the  trees  on  either  side  of  it ; 
and  the  clustering  flowers  of  the  acacia,  the  chestnut, 
the  catalpa,  and  the  tulip  tree,  added  the  charm  of 
renewed  youth  and  beauty  to  their  proud  strength. 
Flowers  of  all  hues,  roses  with  and  "without  the 
the  thorn, "  were  scattered  in  profuse  luxuriance  on 
every  side,  and  one,  hardly  known  to  fame,  hung  its 
long  emerald  wreaths  studded  with  bells  "  blooming 
ambrosial "  flowers  of  "  vegetable  gold,"  and  sending 
an  unseen  cloud  of  oriental  incense  through  the  air. 

It  would  seem  pedantic  to  introduce  a  botanic 
reference  for  this  comparatively  unknown  flower ;  but 
the  u  yellow  jessamine,"  thus  popularly  but  errone- 
ously called  in  the  region  in  which  it  flourishes,  will 
be  recognized  by  all  who  have  seen  this  superb  ever- 
green vine  in  its  gorgeous  bloom. 


A  BRIDAL.  89 

The  garden,  even  in  its  homeliest  features,  shared 
in  the  charm  of  spring ;  and  the  squares  and  stripes, 
pranked  out  in  gay  blossoms  of  varied  hues,  and  giv- 
ing comfortable  promise  of  their  fruits  in  due  season, 
were  not  without  their  attractions  to  the  practical 
eye  and  sense. 

The  bees  were  busy  with  their  useful  labors,  and 
disputed  the  calyx  of  the  woodbine  or  honeysuckle 
with  testy  little  humming-birds,  that  whirred  and 
glanced  their  tiny  wings  with  lightning  quickness, 
like  "  atoms  of  the  rainbow  fluttering  round,"  plung- 
ing their  long  slender  beaks  into  the  depths  of  the 
flower  bells,  and  sometimes  impatiently  tearing  them 
if  disappointed  in  the  nectar  they  hoped  to  find  within. 

The  groves  and  woods  were  vocal  with  the  concert 
of  birds,  and,  above  all  competition,  rose  the  rich, 
clear  song  of  the  mocking-bird,  mimicking  all  the 
rest,  and  with  proud  complacency  surpassing  them, 
all  by  his  own  artistic  skill. 

The  preceding  day  had  been  one  of  clouds  and 
rain,  but  only  a  white  vapor  now  floated  in  light 
masses  through  the  blue  ether,  throwing  a  soft  shade 
partially  over  the  landscape,  and  then  passing  away, 
leaving  it  to  the  influence  of  unclouded  sunshine. 

Every  leaf  and  flower  was  sparkling  with  diamond 
drops  that  trembled  in  the  sunbeams,  as  if  conscious 
that  they  were  soon  to  be  absorbed  by  the  irresistible 
power  of  the  sovereign  to  whom  they  owed  allegiance. 

The  distant  line  of  the  horizon  with  its  shadowy 
peaks,  and  the  neighboring  mountains,  now  a  mass  of 
rich  foliage,  were  clearly  pencilled  out,  challenging  the 
attention  that  might  otherwise  have  been  exclusively 


90  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

devoted  to  the  nearer  objects  of  interest  in  the 
scene. 

Constance  was  standing  at  an  open  window,  in- 
haling the  fragrance  and  music  that  breathed  their 
joyous  spirit  into  her  young  heart,  and  pointing  out 
to  little  Alice  a  contest  among  three  rivals,  a  bee,  a 
butterfly  and  a  humming-bird,  for  the  honor  of  first 
appropriating  a  bell  of  the  "yellow  jessamine  "  that 
bloomed  just  beneath  the  window. 

"  Why,  what  silly  little  things  you  are !  "  ex- 
claimed Alice,  watching  the  combatants  eagerly,  and 
leaning  forward  to  see  the  result  of  the  contest; 
"  there  are  twenty  bells  on  that  wreath,  and  you  can- 
not be  satisfied,  without  all  of  you  having  that  one. 
You  ought  to  be  caught  for  being  so  naughty.  May 
I  catch  that  pretty  little  tiny  bird,  sister?  Oh,  what 
a  beautiful  breast  he  has !  Just  like  a  flame  of  fire ! 
And  his  green  head  and  back  that  shine  so  brightly 
in  the  sun !  May  I  catch  him  ?  " 

"  If  you  can, "  replied  Constance,  laughing,  and 
the  joyous  child  spread  out  her  little  hand  to  snatch 
the  prize ;  but  the  bird  fluttered  his  gauzy  wings  with 
lightning  quickness,  for  a  moment,  and  vanished,  al- 
most "  ere  she  could  point  his  place." 

Alice  next  thought  herself  secure  of  the  butter 
fly,  and  her  fingers  were  almost  closed  on  the  tips  of 
its  downy  wings,  but  the  first  touch  warned  him  of  his 
danger,  and  he  followed  the  retreat  of  the  hum- 
ming-bird. 

"  I  think  you  may  go,  Mr.  Bee, "  said  Alice,  who 
had  once  had  experience  of  a  sting ;  "  I  think  I  shall 
let  you  off,  this  time.  You  can  take  some  honey  to 


A   BRIDAL.  91 

the  hive,  and  I  shall  have  it  afterwards.     But  who  is 
that  coming  up  the  lawn,  sister  ?  " 

Constance  looked,  and  looked  again,  more  eagerly, 
as  she  perceived  some  one  in  the  distance,  but  too  far 
to  recognize  him.  As  he  drew  nearer,  he  seemed  to 
be  divided  between  a  desire  to  approach  the  house, 
and  the  attractive  influence  of  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects; for  he  paused  occasionally,  and  then  walked 
rapidly  forward,  as  if  to  regain  the  time  he  had  lost 
by  lingering  on  his  way. 

The  doubt  was  soon  dispelled — it  was  Vivian. 
Constance  and  Alice  ran  out  to  meet  him. 

"  My  own  dear  brother ! "  exclaimed  Constance, 
as  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  his  fine  face  beaming 
with  the  most  radiant  of  smiles,  "  I  need  not  ask  you 
to  tell  me  your  happiness.  It  is  written  in  your  eyes 
and  in  that  smile.  I  need  not  ask  you  how  your  suit 
has  prospered." 

"  Who  told  you  any  thing  about  a  suit,  pray  ?  " 
said  Vivian,  playfully  affecting  to  misunderstand 
her  allusion,  and  taking  little  Alice  in  his  arms 
and  devouring  her  with  kisses.  "Do  you  sup- 
pose that  I  have  been  occupied  all  this  time  in  re- 
plenishing my  wardrobe,  that  you  ask  about  suits  f 
How  do  you  know  that  I  have  not  been  studying  the 
ancients  and  moderns,  the  arts  and  the  graces  and 
music,  with  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Fowler?  Unless,  in- 
deed, all  the  secrets  of  the  household  have  been  di- 
vulged in  my  absence.  You  required  my  presence 
here  to  keep  you  all  in  order.  I  have  no  doubt  Alice 
has  needed  the  lessons  of  patience  and  forbearance 
that  I  often  give  her  by  my  teasing,  and  you  have 
forgotten  all  your  Italian  by  this  time.  I  fear  the 


92  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

education  of  my  pupils  has  all  been  going  wrong. 
And  my  honored  parents,  pray  where  are  they  ?  " 

"  Papa  is  taking  his  ride,  and  mamma —  " 

But  Mrs.  Melville  at  that  moment  appeared,  and 
Vivian  embraced  her  as  heartily  as  he  had  his  sisters. 
They  all  walked  on  in  renewed  happiness  together. 

"  You  received  my  letter,  mother  ?  " 

"Not  until  this  morning,  my  son;  but  we  had 
guessed  its  contents  before  it  was  opened.  It  needed 
neither  fairy  nor  '  ghost '  to  tell  us  what  was  so  obvious 
before  you  left  us.  But  c  allow  me  to  congratulate 
you  on  the  happy  occasion,'  as  the  pompous  old  guar- 
dian, who  in  part  aided  your  cause,  would  say." 

Vivian  had  seated  himself  on  the  steps  of  the 
portico  with  little  Alice  on  his  knee.  As  his  mother 
spoke,  she  gently  put  back  the  glossy  hair  from  his 
brow,  and  bestowed  a  maternal  kiss  upon  it,  while 
she  added,  more  earnestly, 

"  I  congratulate  you,  my  son.  Evelyn  is  a  lovely 
girl ;  and  your  own  happiness  secured,  the  sympathy 
of  tastes  and  feelings  between  her  family  and  our  own  is 
the  best  guarantee  of  our  satisfaction.  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  son ! "  and  again  she  kissed  the  fair,  manly 
brow. 

The  letter  Vivian  referred  to  had  been  received 
by  that  morning's  post,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Melville 
were  sitting  in  his  study,  and  while  Constance  and 
Alice  were  engaged  as  we  have  seen  them  in  inhaling 
the  balmy  air  of  spring,  and  watching  the  contest  of 
the  bee,  the  butterfly,  and  the  humming-bird. 

"  That  letter  contains  good  news,  I  hope,"  said 
Mrs.  Melville,  who  recognized  the  handwriting  and 


A   BRIDAL.  93 

address,  and  had  observed  that  the  letter  was  from 
Vivian,  and  to  herself.  "When  you  have  finished 
reading  it,  I  think  I  may  claim  it,"  she  added,  with  a 
smile. 

Mr.  Melville  placed  the  letter  in  her  hand.  "  It 
contains  intelligence  of  importance,"  he  said,  "  but 
you  will  probably  be  as  little  surprised  as  I  am  at  the 
news  it  communicates." 

Mrs.  Melville  read  the  letter.  She  appeared  as 
Mr.  Melville  had  suggested,  but  little  surprised  at 
its  contents. 

"  I  believe  we  have  all  been  anticipating  the  event 
announced  to  us  in  this  letter,"  she  said.  "We  may 
congratulate  ourselves  that  Vivian's  taste  has  found 
a  direction  so  congenial  with  our  own." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Melville,  "  I  trust  that  the 
oft  repeated  saying,  that  'the  course  of  true  love 
never  did  run  smooth,'  may  be  refuted  in  this  instance ; 
where  two  young  persons  are  equal  in  every  respect, 
where  they  have  every  advantage  of  nature,  educa- 
tion, and  principle,  and  where  the  parents  on  both 
sides  are  united  by  congenial  tastes  and  sentiments, 
there  can  be  little  doubt  of  their  happiness.  Vivian 
is  rather  young,  it  is  true ;  but  that,  it  has  been  said, 
'  is  a  fault  that  will  mend  every  day.' " 

"Vivian  is  only  a  year  younger  than  you  were 
when  you  took  the  same  important  step,"  said  Mrs. 
Melville,  smiling ;  "  for  you  were  only  twenty-three 
at  that  time,  and  I  think  we  have  agreed  that  we  lost 
at  least  one  year  of  happiness  by  the  delay  I  imposed, 
in  waiting  until  I  should  attain  the  respectable  age  of 
seventeen.  Our  experience  has  taught  us,"  she  added, 


94  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

more  seriously,  "  that  when  young  hearts  are  united 
in  bonds  of  love,  firm  faith,  and  sympathy  of  feeling 
and  taste,  they  will  prove,  as  ours  have  done, 

4  Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  has  tried, 
And  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  !  "' 

She  had  been  standing  behind  him,  with  her  hand 
resting  on  his  shoulder,  while  they  read  the  letter 
together.  He  drew  her  gently  to  him,  and  imprinted 
a  kiss  on  her  matronly  cheek. 

"  Such  love,  such  faith,  such  sympathies  have  been 
ours,"  he  said.  "  I  trust  Vivian  and  Evelyn  will  be 
as  happy  as  we  have  been ;  more  than  that  I  could 
not  wish  for  them." 

A  moment  of  quiet  thought  ensued;  and  Mrs. 
Melville  apparently  resumed  a  subject  on  which  they 
were  conversing,  when  Vivian's  letter  was  received. 

"  This  event  will  then  make  no  change  in  your 
arrangements  for  our  contemplated  visit  to  Europe 
in  the  autumn  ?  "  she  said,  interrogatively. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Melville,  "  I  could  not  change 
them  if  I  would  ;  but  Vivian  and  Eveljfti'can  accom- 
pany us.  A  bridal  tour  is  always  in  fashion,  and  the 
beau  ideal  of  all  that  is  gay  and  delightful  to  young 
ladies  is  a  trip  to  Paris ;  so  that  it  will  probably  need 
no  persuasion  to  induce  them  to  be  of  our  party. 
Vivian  is  just  of  the  right  age  to  profit  by  foreign 
travel,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  modern  languages 
will  greatly  facilitate  his  improvement,  and  add  to 
his  pleasure." 

"  It  will  certainly  be  an  advantage  to  have  a  home 
such  as  we  may  offer  them,  for  a  part  of  the  time  at 


A   BRIDAL.  95 

least,"  said  Mrs.  Melville ;  "  and  to  a  young  man  who 
marries  an  accomplished  and  amiable  woman  whose 
tastes  coincide  with  his  own,  her  society  doubles  the 
pleasure  of  all  he  enjoys,  if  Heaven  favors  the  pair 
with  good  health,  and  a  reasonable  portion  of  what 
the  world  would  call  good  fortune,  as  the  special  care 
of  Divine  Providence  is  too  often  called." 

"  Such  a  companion  as  you  describe,"  said  Mr.  Mel- 
ville, "  would  be  no  incumbrance  even  to  an  inexperi- 
enced traveller  in  these  days  of  modern  civilization.  She 
might  be  an  impediment  to  the  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc, 
or  even  a  visit  to  the  Pyramids.  But  the  former  I 
have  always  considered  rather  an  idle  ambition,  and 
of  the  latter  I  have  been  content  to  take  the  accounts 
of  travellers  more  enterprising  than  myself.  These 
details,  however,  can  be  best  settled  when  Vivian 
comes,  and  I  have  reason  to  expect  him  to-day. 
Perhaps  I  may  meet  him." 

Mr.  Melville  departed  on  his  morning  ride,  and 
Vivian  arrived  in  his  absence,  as  has  been  related. 

Our  young  and  romantic  reader,  on  reviewing  the 
last  few  pages,  will  probably  exclaim',  "  What !  is  it 
possible  that  this  elegant,  handsome,  high-souled 
young  man,  for  whom  we  had  imagined  a  thousand 
interesting  adventures,  is  to  be  married  before  the 
volume  is  half  finished  ?  Is  he  not  to  be  deceived 
in  the  object  of  his  adoration,  to  find  himself >c  crossed 
in  hopeless  love,'  to  discover  that  Evelyn  is  not  her- 
self, but  somebody  else — perhaps  the  daughter  of  a 
foreign  prince,  and  that  to  attain  her  hand  Vivian 
would  have  to  be  a  prince,  too  ?  "  well — he  was,  in 
all  but  the  name.  And  we  hope  to  be  pardoned  for 


96  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

the  novelty  in  a  novel  that  permits  every  thing  to 
take  a  natural  and  quiet  course. 

Romance  writers  are  often  slyly  reminded  that 
the  union  of  the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  piece  has 
the  same  magical  effect  that  the  name  of  "  Jacky  me 
nory's  "  brother,  in  the  classic  rhymes  in  which  this 
personage  is  commemorated,  has  upon  the  "story" 
he  illustrates ;  and  that  when  this  union  takes  place, 
"  the  story's  done." 

This  is  not  wonderful,  and  it  may  be  accounted 
for  without  the  unamiable  reason  too  often  alleged, 
that  the  hero  and  heroine,  when  united,  are  less 
happy,  less  loving,  or  less  romantic  than  before.  It 
is  only  because  their  happiness  then  is  too  unalloyed, 
too  "  unchangingly  bright "  for  a  picture,  where  there 
must  be  shadows  as  well  as  sunshine  to  give  it  interest 
in  the  eyes  of  others.  For  themselves,  this  "long 
sunny  lapse  of  a  summer-day's  light "  is  all  they  wish, 
nor  is  there  danger  that  their  love  will  ever  "  fall 
asleep  in  its  sameness  of  splendor."  They  need  no 
dark  shadows  with  which  to  contrast  their  existence. 
It  flows  on  like  a  gentle  stream  without  a  ripple  on 
its  wave,  only  deepened  and  widened  by  others  that 
join  it  in  its  course,  and  they  still  flow  on  together 
until  they  are  merged  in  the  ocean  of  eternity. 

If  the  reader  is  anxious  to  pass  over  the  next 
three  or  four  months,  such  a  sentiment  accords  en- 
tirely with  the  feeling  of  Vivian,  who  saw  the  fresh 
young  graces  of  spring  matured  into  matronly  sum- 
mer, and  summer  fading  into  gray  autumn  with  un- 
disguised satisfaction. 

During  this  period  we  must  be  content  to  leave 


A  BEIDAL.  97 

the  young  couple  unmolested,  without  taking  the 
liberties  of  Asmodius,  which  we  should  have  been 
compelled  to  do,  if  we  desired  to  witnessv  any  of  the 
interviews  of  the  lovers.  The  "  boiteux  "  would  have 
had  a  difficult  task  in  taking  off  three  stories  from  the 
top  of  a  noble  mansion,  before  he  could  have  enjoyed 
even  a  glimpse  of  the  elegant  and  luxurious  apartment 
in  which  they  were  seated,  "  conning  their  fairy  lore  " 
of  possible  and  impossible  happiness,  and  arranging 
their  bright  beautiful  plans  for  their  future  life. 

Castles  in  the  air  at  last  subsided  into  castles  on 
the  earth,  and  the  happy  appointed  day  arrived. 

We  should  be  suspected  of  borrowing  from  some 
fashionable  journal  of  the  time,  if  all  the  details  of  this 
memorable  occasion  were  given — details  so  deeply 
interesting  to  those  concerned,  but  perchance  possess- 
ing rather  less  of  interest  to  those  who  are  not  in  im- 
mediate anticipation  of  such  an  event  for  themselves. 
But  we  may  be  permitted  to  express  our  admiration 
of  the  beautiful  bride,  who  looked  more  beautiful  than 
ever  in  her  dress  and  veil  of  Brussels  lace,  the  dia- 
monds that  rivalled  her  bright  eyes,  and  the  delicate 
wreath  of  mingled  clematis  and  orange  blossoms  that 
rested  lightly  on  her  golden  hair,  and  of  the  lovely 
group  of  white-robed  demoiselles  cfrhonneur,  first  of 
whom  was  Constance,  claiming  the  sweet  name  of 
"  sister,"  and  looking,  in  her  radiant  happiness,  as  if 
her  airy  dress  of  silvery  white  was  but  a  floating  cloud 
on  which  a  seraph  rested. 

How  shall  we  descend  from  such^  ethereal  visions 
to  the  more  substantial  touches  in  the  picture  ?  We 
may,  indeed,  rest  a  moment  on  the  elegant  young 
5 


98  HOME   AND   THE   TTOfcLD. 

bridegroom,  whose  highest  dream  of  personal  vanity, 
— though  we  are  happy  to  say  he  had  but  little  of 
this  frailty, — might  have  been  realized  by  the  whisper 
heard  on  every  side,  of  "  what  a  beautiful  pair !  "  and 
for  another  moment  on  the  handsome  young  brides- 
men, with  their  white  favors  and  superb  bouquets  of 
flowers,  to  be  presented  in  due  season  to  the  ladies  of 
their  choice  in  the  white-robed  group.  And  yet 
another  moment  we  might  dwell  upon  the  elegant 
company,  and  the  enchanting  union  of  music,  light, 
and  gayety.  Last  of  all,  though  not  least  to  those 
who  were  sublunary  enough  to  appreciate  such  acces- 
sories, the  superb  supper,  the  choice  old  wine  laid 
aside  for  the  occasion  when  the  lovely  bride  was  born, 
— the  white  and  gilt  boxes  filled  with  wedding  cake, 
curiously  iced  with  appropriate  devices,  and  piled  up 
in  the  hall  for  all  who  wished  to  bear  off  mementoes 
of  the  bridal  fete  in  departing. 

All  this,  and  much  more,  "  is  it  not  written  in  the 
chronicles  "  of  the  time  ?  We  must  therefore  pass  on 
to  events  of  equal  importance  in  our  story,  though  it 
would  hardly  be  possible  to  dwell  on  one  more  inter- 
esting to  those  two  of  our  dramatis  personse,  who 
have,  so  far,  been  its  hero  and  heroine. 

An  intimation  has  already  been  given  that  Mi- 
Melville  had  decided  on  going  abroad  soon  after  the 
bridal.  It  is  not  necessary  to  our  story  to  know  the 
exact  reason  that  influenced  him  in  this  movement. 
A  visit  to  Europe  is  so  every-day  an  occurrence  that 
it  is  needless  to  give  any  particular  reason  for  it  on 
the  present  occasion.  Mr.  Melville  was  a  man  of 


A   BRIDAL.  99 

judgment,  and  his  reasons  and  his  actions  may  be 
safely  left  to  his  own  wisdom  and  discretion. 

Within  a  month  after  the  union  of  Vivian  and 
Evelyn  Walsingham,  Mr.  Melville  and  his  family,  ac- 
companied by  the  young  bride  and  bridegroom,  em- 
barked for  Europe. 

A  few  days  before  their  departure,  Mrs.  Melville 
paid  a  visit  to  Mammy's  cottage.  She  respectfully 
rose  and  stood,  as  was  always  her  wont,  in  the  vener- 
ated presence  of  her  mistress.  The  snowy  apron  and 
collar  were  now  relieved  upon  a  black  dress,  and  the 
Creole  turban  was  replaced  by  a  white  cap.  Mrs. 
Melville  spoke  to  her  kindly  of  the  arrangements  she 
had  directed  to  be  made  to  secure  her  comfort  during 
the  absence  of  the  family. 

The  poor  woman  burst  into  tears.  "  I  cannot  live 
now,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "  if  you  and  all  the  family  go 
away.  Johnson  has  his  wife  and  children,  and  he 
will  like  to  stay  and  take  care  of  your  flowers,  and 
the  house,  and  every  thing ;  but  poor  me  !  "  and  she 
sobbed  aloud.  "  If  you  could  only  jest  let  me  go  with 
you,  ma'am ! " 

And  Mammy  went. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     SCENE     CHANGES. 

"  AND  I  have  lov'd  thee,  Ocean ! "  exclaimed  the 
bard,  whose  brilliant  genius  has  often  illustrated  this 
mighty  theme. 

But  the  curious  reader  of  his  poetic  fancies  will 
perceive  that  the  charms  he  loves  to  dwell  upon  are 
to  be  found  only  in  views  of  the  ocean  from  the  land. 
When  the  scene  is  sketched  by  the  poet's  master 
hand,  even  when  he  is  actually  embarked  upon  "  the 
dark  blue  sea,"  when  "the  white  sail  is  set"  and 
"  the  glorious  main  expanding  o'er  the  bow,"  he  still 
fondly  lingers  on  the  "spires  and  strand  retiring," 
and  so  proves  demonstratively  that  he  is  not  fairly 
out  at  sea.  His  enthusiasm  seems  to  decline  as  the 
land  recedes,  for  his  muse  then  dwells  upon  "the 
sorrows  sailors  find,  coop'd  in  their  winged  sea-girt 
citadel,"  and  on  the  joy  they  experience  when  on 
some  "jocund  morn  "  the  land  again  appears,  "  and 
all  is  well." 

So  far  the  poet  has  the  sympathy  of  all  who  can 
appreciate  the  surpassing  beauty  and  majestic  sub- 
limity of  the  ocean.  If  its  broad  expanse  can  be  seen 
either  from  a  comfortable  shelter  on  the  land,  or  in  a 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES.  101 

romantic  walk  on  the  silvery  beach,  while  the  breeze 
fans  away  the  warm  influences  of  a  long  summer  day, 
then  its  varied  charms  may  be  fairly  acknowledged. 
Whether  like  a  "  molten  mirror  "  it  spreads  afar,  the 
white  sails  gleaming  on  its  surface  unmoved  by  a 
breath,  or  when  its  brilliant  waves  are  sparkling  like 
sapphires  in  the  sunbeams,  or  when,  chafing  in  angry 
mood,  the  proud  billows  come  booming  against  the 
iron-bound  coast,  dashing  up  a  cloud  of  white  spray 
as  every  successive  wave  gives  its  thundering  peal, 
old  ocean  is  glorious.  "Fair  as  the  moon,  clear  as 
the  sun,  and  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners !  " 

But  when  we  are  fairly  out  at  sea,  the  magic 
vanishes,  and  there  are  few  if  any,  who  have  not  at 
some  period  of  a  sea  voyage  found  themselves  ready 
to  exclaim  with  another  "  older  "  if  not  a  "  better  " 
poet,  "  Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of  sea, 
for  an  acre  of  barren  ground !  " 

We  will  not  torture  our  reader  with  all  the  details 
that  render  life,  for  the  most  part  at  such  a  period,  at 
best  "  but  a  waste  of  wearisome  hours,"  even  to  those 
who  are  not  positive  sufferers ;  but  pass  gladly  over 
all  the  discomforts,  anxieties,  and  miseries,  small  and 
great,  usually  attendant  on  the  traversee.  Happy 
would  it  be  for  the  voyager  if  he  could  avail  himself 
of  our  fairy  carpet,  and  find  himself  transported  with 
as  much  celerity  as  we  are  about  to  transfer  our  travel- 
lers to  the  blissful  moment  that  announced  the  first 
faint  glimpse  of  the  rocky  coast,  and  bright  fields  be- 
yond, of  the  Emerald  Isle. 

If  the  limits  of  our  story  allowed  the  privilege, 
we  should  be  only  too  happy  to  follow  our  travellers 


102  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

step  by  step  in  their  progress  through  the  loveliest 
and  most  highly  cultivated  country  in  the  world. 
With  what  pleasure  we  could  accompany  them  in 
their  visit  to  Eaton  Hall,  its  mingled  Italian  and 
English  beauties  probably  most  admiretl  because  first 
seen  of  the  aristocratic  palaces  of  England,  and  join 
in  the  merriment  raised  at  the  expense  of  funny  old 
Chester,  with  its  rabbit-warren  streets  and  quaint 
houses ! 

Then  we  should  delight  in  rambling  with  them 
through  Wales,  and  pausing  at  old  Conway  Castle 
"  frowning  o'er  the  foaming  flood "  that  looks  so 
placid  just  at  that  classic  spot,  as  if  smiling  at  the 
"  noble  rage  "  of  the  great  bard. 

And  how  pleased  we  should  be  again  to  penetrate 
the  gloomy  but  beautiful  mysteries  of  Warwick  Castle, 
and  to  laugh  at  the  wondrous  legend  of  the  doughty 
Guy  and  his  dun  cow ;  or  to  bask  in  the  soft  sunshine 
on  the  grassy  mounds  that  now  are  almost  all  that 
is  left  of  the  half-fabulous  splendors  of  Kenilworth. 

Still  less  should  we  have  time  to  pause  at  Rich- 
mond, lovely  Richmond  !  and  sail  lazily  up  and  down 
the  Thames  with  the  white-breasted  swans  who  seem 
to  be  enjoying  the  scene  at  their  leisure ;  and  least 
of  all  could  we  venture  into  the  labyrinthine  mazes  of 
boundless  London.  We  dare  not  even  look  towards 
glorious  old  Westminster,  lest  we  should  be  lost  amid 
its  Gothic  aisles  and  arches,  and  become  bewildered 
by  the  crowd  of  recollections  rushing  at  once  on  the 
mind  in  connection  with  it.  All  this,  if  described  at 
length,  would  be  betraying  our  indulgent  reader  into 
the  perusal  of  a  journal  instead  of  a  story. 


THE   SCENE  CHANGES.  103 

It  was  precisely  at  "  Westminster  Abbey,"  that  all 
the  journals  of  all  the  young  travellers  of  Mr.  Melville's 
party  broke  down,  nor  had  they  courage  to  resume 
them  afterwards.  Unfortunately  for  posterity,  which 
might  have  been  enriched  by  these  valuable  lucubra- 
tions, Mrs.  Melville  happened  to  refer  to  our  gifted 
author  who  has  illustrated  this  noble  subject  with  his 
pen;  and  a  re-perusal  of  his  beautiful  "sketch"  so  far 
discouraged  them,  that  the  Abbey  and  the  journals 
were  together  abandoned  in  despair. 

Still  more  willingly  do  we  pass  over  the  unenvi- 
able journey  from  London  to  Paris,  the  abominations 
encountered  in  crossing  the  Channel,  which  Boreas 
and  Neptune  seem  to  have  combined  in  using  as  a 
funnel  for  filling  all  their  great  Heidelberg  tuns  of 
seas  and  oceans,  in  a  cockle-shell  boat  overloaded 
with  armies  of  sick  and  wounded  "  land-lubbers,"  evi- 
dently making  their  first  excursion  to  the  great  French 
Capital,  and  tumbled  about  in  heterogeneous  heaps 
over  the  floors  and  deck  above  and  below.  All  this 
we  leave  for  chroniclers  who  have  a  fancy  for  such 
themes.  We  are  willing  to  escape,  and  fly  over  the 
road  from  Boulogne-sur-mer  to  Paris,  as  rapidly  as 
did  the  party  whose  movements  it  is  our  duty  to  keep 
in  sight. 

The  usual  attending  troubles  of  a  first  arrival  and 
establishment  in  a  great  city  awaited  Mr.  Melville  and 
his  family  in  the  Metropolis,  and  it  was  with  no  little 
satisfaction  that  they  found  themselves,  after  encounter- 
ing a  reasonable  share  of  those  troubles,  established  in 
a  handsome  house  in  the  most  eligible  portion  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain. 


104  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

It  happened  that  one  of  those  fine  old  palace-like 
hotels  (it  would  be  presumptuous  to  say  to  the  reader 
that  the  finest  private  residences  are  distinguished  by 
this  title)  had  just  been  vacated  by  the  Marquise  de 
M.,  who  from  being  a  lady  of  pleasure,  had  by  a  natural 
consequence  become  a  lady  of  pain,  and  had  retired  to 
her  chateau  to  revive  her  health  as  well  as  her  de- 
clining fortunes,  leaving  her  fine  hotel  hi  the  "  noble 
Faubourg  "  to  be  occupied  by  any  stranger  who  was 
willing  to  pay  for  the  honor  of  taking  her  place. 

The  hotel  was  of  noble  size,  built  in  a  hollow  square, 
with  a  central  court,  and  with  a  garden  of  consider- 
able extent.  The  garden  was  attached  to  the  portion 
of  the  building  aufondde  la  cour,  and  it  was  for  this 
reason  that  Mr.  Melville  and  his  family  gave  it  their 
preference.  The  entrances  were  separate,  and  the 
different  sides  of  the  building  as  distinct  as  so  many 
large  houses  in  London  or  in  any  city  in  our  own 
country  would  be.  The  only  difference  was  that  the 
whole  hotel  was  served  by  the  same  Argus-eyed  porter 
who  kept  watch  and  ward  over  the  interests  of  his 
mistress,  Madame  la  Marquise,  and  whose  vocation  it 
was  to  report  to  her  that  her  garden  was  well  kept, 
that  her  gilded  salons  were  never  profaned  by  burn- 
ing any  other  fuel  than  the  finest  wood  the  chantier 
could  supply,  and  that  none  but  the  most  delicate  wax 
lights  were  to  be  seen  in  her  lustres.  Au  reste  the 
porter  was  honest  and  considerate,  though  like  all 
others  of  his  tribe  he  was  jealous  and  irascible,  and 
orders  once  given  to  him  could  never  be  reversed  even 
on  the  most  important  occasions. 

The  rooms  were  large  and  numerous,  the  dispo- 


THE  SCENE    CHANGES.  105 

sition  commodious,  and  the  furniture  elegant.  The  gar- 
den though,  at  the  season  when  Mr.  Melville  arrived, 
deprived  of  its  summer  beauties,  gave  an  agreeable 
view  even  in  its  fading  charms  to  the  salons,  and  the 
walls  that  divided  it  from  several  others  in  its  vicinity 
were  all  mantled  with  an  impervious  covering  of  ivy, 
rendering  the  boundaries  invisible,  and  giving  the 
whole  together  the  effect  of  extensive  grounds.  A 
lady's  merlin  in  one  of  the  adjoining  gardens  was  still 
celebrating  every  lingering  ray  of  sunshine  and  every 
departing  flower  with  his  sweet  though  monotonous 
note,  and  a  fountaiiflplashed  in  a  marble  basin  in  the 
centre  of  the  garden,  as  if  to  make  an  accompaniment 
to  his  solo. 

Mrs.  Melville  had  accomplished  her  wish  of  offer- 
ing a  home  to  Vivian  and  Evelyn,  and  at  first  they 
were  disposed  to  avail  themselves  of  it,  and  pass  the 
winter  beneath  the  roof  which  might  now  be  called 
paternal.  But  the  season  was  most  propitious  for 
their  intended  tour  as  well  as  a  sojourn  in  a  sunnier 
clime,  and  a  proposition  made  to  them  to  join  an 
agreeable  party,  and  divide  the  winter  and  spring  be- 
tween Rome  and  Florence,  proved  an  irresistible 
temptation.  Some  "  natural  tears  "  were  dropped  as 
they  departed,  but  the  smiles  soon  resumed  their 
place  while  the  happy  young  bride  and  bridegroom 
went  on  their  joyous  way,  finding  novelty  and  in- 
terest at  every  step,  and  the  family  they  had  left 
were  consoled  by  the  assurance  of  hearing  often  of 
them,  and  welcoming  them  back  with  the  flowers  and 
the  summer  birds. 

Mr.  Melville  found  absorbing  occupation  in  vari- 
5* 


106  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

ous  important  pursuits,  which,  with  the  duties  and 
pleasures  of  society,  left  him  hardly  time  even  to 
think  with  regret  of  the  quiet  retirement  of  his 
home. 

A  numerous  circle  of  friends  and  acquaintance 
now  claimed  Mrs.  Melville's  time  and  attention,  for 
Paris  is  the  home  of  strangers,  and  the  favorite  resort 
of  all  who  have  means  and  tune  at  command  to  ex- 
pend in  a  foreign  land.  Every  body  has  some  good 
reason  for  preferring  Paris  to  any  other  city  for  a  tem- 
porary residence.  The  young  like  it,  because  it  is  gay 
and  brilliant;  the  old,  because  fe  is  convenient  and 
agreeable.  The  scientific  find  it  the  emporium  of 
science, — it  is  the  home  of  the  arts  and  the  graces ; — 
half  an  hour  on  a  spring  day  in  the  lovely  garden  of 
the  Tuileries  will  explain  why  it  is  the  delight  of 
children,  and  a  wag  has  mischievously  said  that  "  even 
clergymen  like  Paris,  because  there  are  so  many 
naughty  things  there  to  preach  against."  One  great 
advantage  it  certainly  possesses  over  most  cities  for 
those  who  do  not  desire  to  waste  all  their  precious 
moments  in  conventional  frivolities.  There  is  no  city 
where  entire  liberty  for  both  good  and  evil  is  so  com- 
plete for  strangers,  and  it  is  vain  for  those  who  there 
blindly  follow  the  lead  of  folly  or  vice  to  say  that 
they  have  no  alternative  presented  to  their  choice. 

But  the  temptations  to  waste  time,  even  to  the 
most  reasonable,  are  very  great,  and  Mrs.  Melville 
felt  some  anxiety  lest  her  young  daughter,  who  often 
found  herself  surrounded  by  companions  of  her  own 
age,  should  lose  the  opportunity  of  cultivating  to 
greater  advantage  the  accomplishments  in  which  she 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES.  107 

was  already  distinguished.  Her  precious  morning 
hours  were  therefore  dedicated  to  the  instructions  of 
several  masters  ;  and  a  lady  eminently  qualified  for  the 
delicate  task,  after  much  consideration  and  when  her 
unquestionable  testimonials  had  been  sought  and  re- 
ceived, was  engaged  to  pass  a  few  hours  daily  with 
Constance. 

Madame  Laval,  the  lady  who  assumed  this  duty, 
was  young  and  handsome.  Her  pleasing  figure,  her 
simple  but  neat  and  even  elegant  toilette,  her  dark 
expressive  eyes  and  frank  cordial  smile  soon  wen  the 
hearts  of  both  her  pupils,  for  little  Alice  claimed  her 
place  as  one.  In  the  character  of  her  mind  and  heart 
she  displayed  at  the  first  glance,  the  open  loyalty  of 
her  English  father,  and  the  warm  enthusiasm  of  her 
Italian  mother.  But  by  a  singular  coincidence  of 
circumstances  she  spoke  neither  of  their  languages  ; 
and  it  was  only  her  pure  Parisian  French  that  Con- 
stance availed  herself  of  to  perfect  her  own. 

Madame  Laval  soon  won  the  love  and  trust  of  all 
the  family,  and  her  daily  visits  were  anticipated  as  a 
pleasant  recreation  rather  than  a  season  of  study.  In- 
deed, to  talk  was  her  chief  vocation,  and  to  catch  the 
intonation  of  her  musical  voice  was  the  best  exercise 
of  her  young  pupils.  It  is  a  matter  of  regret  that  her 
own  pretty  tournures  de  phrase  must  necessarily  be 
lost  in  our  translation  of  them. 

"You  are  not  then  acquainted  with  those  very 
near  neighbors  of  yours?"  said  Madame  Laval  to 
Constance  one  day,  after  they  had  passed  through 
their  usual  recitations  of  Racine  and  Boileau  and  La- 
fontaine.  "  I  am  fortunate  in  having  my  pupils  be- 


108  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

neath  the  same  roof,  though  in  different  houses.  The 
Signorina  Beatrice  de  Yisconti  is  a  charming  young 
person.  I  hope  you  will  one  day  become  acquainted 
with  her." 

"  That  is  then  the  name  of  the  elegant  young  lady 
we  met  just  within  the  porte-cochere  when  we  returned 
from  our  early  walk  to  the  Tuileries  yesterday  ?  "  in- 
quired Constance. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Madame  Laval.  "  The  Comte  de 
Visconti,  her  father,  has  been  here  several  years,  and 
has  just  returned  with  his  daughter  from  a  sojourn  of 
some  months  in  his  native  city  of  Milan.  It  is  a  matter 
of  surprise  to  his  friends  that  he  should  leave  a  place 
where  his  noble  name  is  so  well  known,  to  take  up 
his  residence  in  a  city  where  he  becomes  only  one  of 
a  crowd  of  strangers ;  but  Paris  has  its  attractions 
for  every  class." 

"Perhaps  you  might  apply  that  criticism  to  more 
than  one  temporary  resident  of  this  enticing  metropo- 
lis," said  Constance,  smiling ;  "  but  as  the  signorina 
and  her  father  are  such  very  near  neighbors  of  ours, 
I  feel  particularly  interested  in  knowing  something 
about  them.  If  the  gentleman  who  was  with  her 
yesterday  is  her  father,  he  is  a  stately-looking  man, 
certainly,  but  rather  grim,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  apply  such  a  formidable  word 
to  the  count,"  said  Madame  Laval,  laughing.  "His 
daughter  would  never  forgive  you  if  she  were  to  hear 
it,  for  she  is  entirely  devoted  to  him,  and  would  resent 
the  slightest  intimation  that  he  is  any  thing  less  than 
an  archangel.  She  submits  to  all  his  rules  without 
once  questioning  their  reason  or  end,  and  would  as 


THE  SCENE   CHANGES.  109 

soon  dream  of  any  other  impossibility  as  the  failure 
of  his  unerring  judgment.  Perhaps  you  observed 
how  pale  she  looked  when  we  met  her  yesterday :  I 
think  she  is  too  much  confined,  and  that  her  health 
and  spirits  need  recreation.  It  would  be  most  fortu- 
nate for  her  if  she  could  become  acquainted  with 
such  a  family  as  yours." 

"  This,  perhaps,  would  not  suit  the  taste  of  her 
father,"  said  Constance ;  "  but  if  it  should  accord 
with  his  wishes,  from  your  account  of  the  young  lady, 
I  should  be  most  happy  to  relieve  her  solitude,  and 
cultivate  so  charming  an  acquaintance." 

"You  could  not  have  a  more  agreeable  com- 
panion," said  Madame  Laval.  "The  signorina  excels 
in  the  music  of  her  native  land,  and  she  is  gentle  and 
accomplished.  But  she  is  very  timid,  a  natural  con- 
sequence of  the  restraints  of  her  education,  for  she 
has  seen  nothing  of  the  world,  and  her  father  is  her 
beau-ideal  of  every  thing  great  and  excellent  that  it 
contains." 

"  I  will  never  call  him  grim  again,"  said  Constance, 
with  enthusiasm.  "  I  love  her  for  this  devotion :  it 
proves  a  pure  and  noble  nature.  But  has  the  signo- 
rina no  mother  ?  " 

"  Alas !  no,"  replied  Madame  Laval.  "  She  has 
no  mother,  and  a  mother's  place  is  ill-supplied  by  an 
aunt  who  resides  with  the  count.  But  she  is  a.  great 
invalid,  and  seldom  even  leaves  her  apartment.  Her 
presence  in  the  house  is  only  a  nominal  protection  for 
her  fair  niece,  and  this  is  one  reason  why  the  count 
excludes  his  daughter  from  the  world  so  sedulously. 


110  HOME   AND   THE    WORLD. 

In  this  metropolis  a  young  lady  may  almost  as  well 
be  in  a  convent  as  without  a  mother's  protection." 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Melville  at  that  moment, 
attired  for  a  morning  drive  and  visits,  reminded 
Madame  Laval  and  her  pupils  that  the  hours  of  study 
and  conversation  had  been  transcended,  and  she  paid 
her  parting  respects  and  took  her  leave. 

The  usual  compliment  of  morning  calls  made  on 
Mrs.  Melville  demanded  a  return  of  the  civility  she 
had  received ;  but  the  most  important  of  these  visits 
for  the  particular  morning  referred  to  was  one  to  the 

Princesse  de  P ,  as  some  days  had  elapsed  since 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Melville  had  accepted  a  courtesy  from 
her  that  demanded  such  an  acknowledgment,  This 
courtesy,  a  large  and  ceremonious  dinner  party,  has 
not  claimed  special  attention  in  our  story,  because 
few  circumstances  of  peculiar  interest  attended  it. 

There  was  only  one  which  deserves  to  be  re- 
corded ;  and  which  was  afterwards  recalled  as  an 
omen  by  all  who  were  present  on  the  occasion,  as 
dreams  often  are  when  the  vague  and  mysterious  com- 
binations of  thought  that  produce  them  assume  reality. 

In  the  midst  of  the  elegant  entertainment,  a  tri- 
umph of  the  confectioner's  art  appeared  in  two  large 
fabrics  of  exquisite  and  delicate  workmanship,  which 
were  placed  in  front  of  the  host  and  hostess.  One 
of  these  represented  a  kingly  palace,  the  other,  a 
Gothic  cathedral.  Whether  the  warmth  of  the  rooms 
had  partially  dissolved  the  icy  foundation  on  which 
they  rested,  or  whether  a  darker  and  more  mysterious 
cause  produced  the  symbolic  result,  cannot  now  be 
determined ;  but  as  soon  as  the  splendid  fabrics 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES.  Ill 

were  put  in  place,  they  trembled  convulsively  for  a 
moment,  and  then  suddenly  fell,  scattering  the  spark- 
ling debris  over  the  table,  the  ormolu  ornaments,  and 
the  silver  and  gold  plate  with  which  the  table  was 
profusely  decorated. 

As  it  does  not  suit  our  present  purpose  to  com- 
ment upon  this  catastrophe,  which  only  excited  a 
smile  on  the  part  of  the  amiable  and  refined  host  and 
hostess  and  some  pretty  expressions  of  commiseration 
from  their  well-bred  guests,  we  shall  not  pursue  it 
farther,  but  return  to  Mrs.  Melville  and  her  daughter, 
who  have  been  waiting  in  then*  chariot  while  we  have 
detailed  this  circumstance,  and  until  the  footman 

could  inquire  if  Madame  La  Princesse  de  P was 

at  home  and  would  receive  that  morning.  The  reply 
was  affirmative,  and  the  visitors  were  conducted 
through  several  salons  to  the  farthest  hi  the  suite. 

The  room  in  which  the  lady  received  our  visitors 
was  elegant  but  simple,  giving,  as  the  favorite  morn- 
ing room  always  does,  the  best  idea  of  its  occupant. 
Music,  books,  and  flowers  had  each  their  appropriate 
places  in  it,  and  two  lovely  children  were  gambolling 
around  their  mother  with  a  delight  and  confidence 
that  showed  a  perfect  understanding  between  them, 
and  that  her  little  ones  were  not  "  wisely  kept  for 
show"  on  occasions  when  la  bonne  mere  might  be 
displayed  to  advantage. 

She  advanced  with  an  unaffected  and  winning  air 
of  cordiality  that  at  once  touched  the  electrio  chain 
of  sympathy,  and  the  corner-stone  of  a  true  friendship 
was  laid  at  that  moment  which  lasted  long  beyond 
the  limits  of  our  story. 


112  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

After  the  usual  compliments  were  exchanged,  the 
princess  remarked  that  the  court  presentation,  which 
had  been  the  subject  of  a  former  conversation,  had 
been  delayed  in  consequence  of  mourning,  but  that 
obstacle  being  now  removed,  it  would  give  her  plea- 
sure to  be  a  chaperon  on  that  occasion.  "  It  is  one 
of  our  old-fashioned  rules,"  she  added,  with  a  smile, 
"  to  exclude  youth  and  beauty  as  much  as  possible  from 
our  court,  by  denying  admission  to  young  ladies. 
But  these  barbarous  rules  are  sometimes  dispensed 
with,  even  with  less  potent  reasons  than  those  which 
admit  the  ladies  Louise  and  Marie  of  Orleans,  who 
are  not  more  than  sixteen ;  so  I  think  it  would  not 
be  an  unpardonable  offence  if  for  once  I  should 
smuggle  youth  and  beauty  into  the  presence  of  our 
august  sovereign ; "  and  she  looked  archly  at  Con- 
stance. 

Constance  was  at  that  moment  amusing  herself 
with  the  children,  who  were  near  her.  The  little  girl 
was  apparently  about  three  years  old,  her  brother 
perhaps  a  year  older.  She  had  taken  quiet  possession 
of  a  chair  which  he  affirmed  to  be  his.  "  Monsieur," 
said  the  little  lady,  putting  her  head  on  one  side  with 
a  knowing  air,  "  do  you  ask  me  to  get  up  ?  I  am  a 
lady  and  you  are  a  gentleman.  You  know,  in  society," 
(a  strong  emphasis  on  the  word,)  "the  ladies  sit 
down,  and  the  gentlemen  stand  up."  Then  changing 
her  grave  tone,  she  put  out  her  tiny  foot,  and  added, 
laughing,  "  There !  sit  upon  that !  "  The  merry  boy 
took  up  the  little  foot  and  kissed  it.  "You  shall 
have  the  chair  and  a  kiss  too,"  he  said,  "  for  being  so 
clever."  And  he  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck. 


THE   SCENE   CHANGES.  113 

Constance  joined  the  laughing  pair ;  and  the  free- 
masonry that  unerringly  guides  children  to  those  who 
sympathize  in  their  innocence  and  guilelessness,  soon 
gave  her  their  confidence.  The  beautiful  boy  glided 
first  to  her  side  and  then  on  her  knee,  and  ended  by 
placing  his  hands  on  her  fresh  fair  cheeks  on  either 
side,  and  bestowing  a  hearty  kiss  on  the  rosebud 
lips  between. 

"  Mamma  is  going  to  make  us  dance  to-morrow," 
he  said,  in  English,  for  his  mother  was  unwilling  that 
her  children  should  lose  her  own  loved  tongue,  and 
was  happy  when  any  occasion  offered  to  practise  them 
in  it.  '* 1  hope  you  will  come  and  dance  with  me.  I 
would  love  it  much.  I  assure  you  I  do  not  dance  too 
badly." 

"  You  will  pardon  the  French  idioms  in  the  Eng- 
lish of  Alphonse,  I  hope,  Miss  Melville,"  said  the  prin- 
cess, smiling.  "  But  I  hope  you  will  at  least  under- 
stand his  request,  and  gratify  us  by  acceding  to  it. 
We  will  promise  not  to  make  you  dance  as  he  has 
translated  his  faire  dancer.  I  am  about  to  give  the 
children  a  bal  ftenfants,  and  we  shall  be  most  happy 
if  you  will  accept  his  invitation.  We  never  separate 
parents  and  children  on  such  occasions,"  she.  added, 
to  Mrs.  Melville,  "  and  I  shall  then  hope,  also,  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  your  youngest  daughter." 

The  invitation  was  as  frankly  accepted  as  given.: 
and  the  princess  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  on  the  subject, 
undertook  "  in  merry  mood  "  to  show  the  style  of  the 
anticipated  presentation. 

"Alphonse,  you  are  just  in  the  middle  of  that 
side  of  the  room,"  she  said  to  the  little  boy.  "  Now 


114  HOME   AND   THE   WOKLD. 

you  shall  be  the  throne,  and  that  large  arni-chair  at 
the  end  of  the  room  shall  represent  the  king." 

Alphonse  walked  gravely  to  the  large  chair  and 
seated  himself  in  it  with  an  air  of  command,  "  I 
prefer  being  the  king,"  he  said,  "if  you  please, 
Madame  la  Princesse." 

Every  body  laughed  at  this,  but  the  preference 
was  accorded,  and  the  princess,  accompanied  by.her 
visitors,  went  through  the  ceremony,  and  were  gra- 
ciously received  by  his  little  Majesty,  who,  though 
not  actually  bearing  on  his  ubaby  brow  the  round 
and  top  of  sovereignty,"  looked  at  least  noble  and 
beautiful  enough  to  be  the  grandson  of  a  king. 

The  presence  of  Constance  was  again  claimed,  and 
her  promise  granted  for  the  miniature  ball ;  and  the 
visitors  departed,  and  finished  their  morning  at  home, 
as  the  drive  and  walk  au  JBois  de  Boulogne,  which 
had  been  their  favorite  resource  for  exercise  and 
fresh  air,  were  now  interdicted  by  excessive  and  in- 
creasing cold. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A     NOBLE     AETIST. 

THE  winter  which  had  now  set  in  will  long  be 
remembered  in  Paris  as  a  season  of  almost  unpre- 
cedented rigor  and  gloom.  In  this  usually  mild  and 
pleasant  climate  it  was  marvellous  to  the  "  fur-clad 
Russ "  to  find  himself  amid  Siberian  snows ;  to  the 
inhabitants  of  warmer  latitudes  who  had  derived 
their  ideas  of  the  sunny  land  of  France  from  the 
poetic  fancies  often  so  brightly  conjured  up  to  gild 
the  stern  realities  of  life  as  well  as  of  climates,  it 
seemed  passing  strange  to  see  the  Seine  a  sheet  of 
"  thick  ribbed  ice,"  and  the  gay  Boulevards  enclosed 
on  either  side  by  embankments  of  snow. 

These  embankments  had  arisen  so  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  that  it  was  found  not  only  impossible  to 
remove  them,  but  the  increasing  severity  of  the  sea- 
son continued  to  add  to  them  until  the  formidable 
barriers  rose  like  fortifications,  extending  on  either 
side  of  the  wide  street,  and  completely  concealing 
the  portion  within  the  trees,  dedicated  to  foot-passen- 
gers, from  the  more  fortunate  occupants  of  the  central 
part.  Here,  notwithstanding  these  discouragements, 


116  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

the  elegant  chariots  of  the  votaries  of  fashion  might 
be  seen ;  for  a  winter  passed  out  of  Paris  and  in  a 
chateau  in  the  country  was  an  impossible  idea,  and 
there  was  perhaps  more  reason  than  usual  for  seeking 
in  a  crowded  city  some  oblivion  of  the  saison  morte, 
which  is  always  a  ready  excuse  for  all  who  prefer  a 
city  life  in  winter. 

Bright  young  faces  sometimes  sparkled  through 
the  frostwork  that  speedily  formed  itself  over  the 
crystal  transparency  of  the  glasses  around  them, 
and  were  occasionally  seen  for  a  moment  by  the  light 
of  the  lamps,  that  even  during  the  day  often  shed 
their  dim  lustre  amid  the  surrounding  gloom.  But 
more  frequently  might  be  observed  among  the  slowly 
moving  file  features  marked  by  lines  of  care  and 
thought,  to  which  a  perpetual  interruption  in  their 
onward  progress  gave  no  such  pleasing  or  amiable 
expression.  In  the  words  of  a  princess  of  the  reign- 
ing court,  "  such  unprecedented  efforts  were  made  to 
please  the  people,  that  one  was  often  kept  waiting  ten 
minutes  in  one's  chariot  to  permit  a  huge  omnibus  to 
pass." 

This  outrage,  so  pathetically  described  by  the 
Princesse  de  P ,  did  not  seem,  however,  to  dis- 
turb the  equanimity  of  the  pretty  little  grisettes  and 
soubretteS)  who  tripped  merrily  on  and  showed  to 
the  greatest  advantage  their  neat  costumes  and  dainty 
chaussure,  which  the  condition  of  the  streets  gave  an 
additional  reason  for  displaying  as  much  as  possible. 
By  these  and  other  foot  passengers  the  clumsy  public 
vehicles  were  from  time  to  time  arrested,  and  accept- 
ing the  assistance  always  gallantly  tendered  by  the 


A   NOBLE   AKTIST.  11 7 

conducteur,  they  sprang  gayly  in,  and  added  yet  an- 
other to  the  smiling  row  of  faces,  and  dashing  array 
of  many  colored  shawls  and  bright  ribbons  with 
which  the  vehicles  were  already  decorated. 

On  one  of  these  misty  and  comfortless  evenings, 
when  the  lights  that  began  to  twinkle  in  the  surround- 
ing gloom  reminded  the  hurrying  passengers  of  the 
populous  rue  Richelieu  of  the  warm  and  well-lighted 
apartments  to  which  many  of  them  were  hastening, 
the  dense  crowd  found  themselves  arrested  by  one  of 
these  awkward  machines,  which  received  their  united 
and  hearty  maledictions. 

A  chariot  had  drawn  near  the  narrow  side  pave- 
ment, the  hope  of  its  solitary  occupant  being  evidently 
to  continue  his  rapid  career,  so  unexpectedly  checked, 
in  spite  of  this  obstacle.  But  the  approach  of  vehicles 
on  the  other  side,  added  to  the  increasing  masses  of 
foot-passengers,  rendered  it  impossible  to  proceed, 
and  the  restive  horses,  irritated  still  more  by  the 
coachman's  repeated  warning  of  "  gardez  !  "  to  the 
bustling  throng,  began  to  rear  and  plunge.  Impatient 
of  the  delay,  and  apparently  of  the  whole  scene,  their 
owner  hastily  checked  the  servants,  and  descending 
from  his  chariot,  threw  his  furred  cloak  around  him, 
and  rapidly  threaded  the  crowded  and  snow-encum- 
bered streets. 

He  passed  with  equal  rapidity  through  the  Place 
du  Carousel,  and  across  the  Pont  Royal,  and  soon 
after  found  himself  at  the  portal  of  his  residence  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  The  porter  immediately 
responded  to  the  authoritative  sound  of  the  bell,  and 
its  ponderous  bronze  door  was  respectfully  thrown 


118  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

open  to  welcome  the  chilled  and  impatient  occupant 
of  the  hotel.  He  entered  the  court,  and  passing  on 
one  side,  ascended  a  marble  stairway  and  advanced 
through  a  number  of  large  and  elegantly  furnished 
rooms  to  a  smaller  one  at  the  extremity  of  the  suite. 

The  door  was  closed,  and  it  was  with  evident  re- 
luctance and  hesitation  that  he  laid  his  hand  on  it. 
Twice  he  made  the  effort,  and  as  often,  apparently 
forgetting  his  fatigue  and  impatience,  he  turned  away 
and  rapidly  paced  the  apartments  again. 

But  noiseless  as  were  his  footsteps  on  the  carpeted 
floors,  they  were  heard  by  a  watchful  ear  within,  and 
a  pair  of  wondrously  lustrous  dark  eyes  looked  forth 
from  the  door  that  had  been  so  carefully  closed,  and 
eagerly  followed  his  retreating  figure.  By  degrees  a 
fair  hand  appeared,  then  a  fairy  foot,  and  when  he 
turned  to  retrace  his  hesitating  steps  toward  the  door, 
the  vision  of  beauty  stood  revealed  before  him. 

"  Beatrice ! "  he  exclaimed,  startled  from  his  reverie 
by  the  lovely  apparition,  though  he  was  well  aware 
that  she  was  within  when  he  entered. 

u  Yes,  it  is  Beatrice,  your  own  Beatrice,  my 
father,"  she  replied,  advancing  toward  him,  and 
taking  his  passive  hand.  "  But  why  do  you  linger 
here  ?  Our  studio  is  far  more  warm  and  delightful 
than  these  larger  apartments,  chilled  as  they  are  by 
the  intense  cold  of  this  strange  clime." 

The  father's  lofty  form  involuntarily  bent  to  return 
the  caress  of  his  daughter,  and  he  permitted  himself 
to  be  led  into  the  retreat  which,  under  other  circum- 
stances, would  have  been  the  first  sought  on  his  return 
after  an  absence  of  many  hours.  But  his  brow  was 


A   NOBLE   ARTIST.  119 

now  heavy  with  a  load  of  care  and  perplexity  that 
grew  darker  and  deeper  as  he  continued  to  muse,  and 
he  rose  from  his  seat  and  paced  the  room. 

"  Beatrice  !  "  he  again  exclaimed,  but  in  a  tone  so 
sad  that  it  reached  the  heart  as  well  as  the  ear  of  the 
lovely  being  he  addressed,  and  banished  the  smile 
with  which  she  first  met  him,  "  we  must  bid  adieu  to 
the  luxury  in  which  we  have  indulged  during  our 
residence  in  this  metropolis.  As  I  anticipated,  all  has 
gone  wrong  at  home ;  I  have  been  so  unfortunate 
as  to  give  offence  unwittingly  in  high  places  there, 
and  I  am  deprived  of  my  fair  heritage,  perhaps, 
for  ever !  "  * 

"And  is  it  this  which  clouds  your  brow,  and 
makes  you  so  sad  ?  "  replied  Beatrice,  who  with  the 
thoughtlessness  of  youth  could  imagine  no  greater 
evil  than  the  absence  of  the  smile  which  had  ever 
been  ready  to  meet  her  fond  caress,  "  is  this  all  ?  why 
it  will  only  give  us  a  fair  opportunity  of  realizing 
some  of  my  brightest  visions, — of  displaying  to  an 
admiring  world  your  splendid  genius  of  which  it  has 
been  deprived  solely  by  the  pride  of  exalted  rank 
and  exuberant  wealth.  And  above  all,"  she  added, 
clasping  his  hand  in  her  own,  as  she  looked  up  in  his 
face  with  an  expression  which  only  a  father  can  appre- 
ciate, "  may  I  not  now  have  it  in  my  power  to  prove 
my  devotion,  and  to  show  not  only  by  words  but 
deeds,  the  depth  of  my  affection  and  gratitude  to  you, 
my  father,  in  sharing  your  reverses  as  I  have  enjoyed 
your  prosperity  ?  " 

The  father  passed  his  hand  tenderly  over  her  fair 
brow.  "  Alas  !  "  he  said,  "  nurtured  as  you  have  been 


120  HOME   AND   THE   WOKLD. 

in  the  lap  of  luxury,  how  little  do  you  know  of  the 
difficulties  that  await  us  !  A  daughter  of  the  proud 
and  noble  house  of  Visconti  left  friendless  and  without 
resources  in  a  foreign  land, — compelled,  perchance,  to 
aid  her  father  in  some  ignoble  occupation,  or  worse 
than  all,  to  exhibit  those  graces  and  talents,  so  care- 
fully fostered  and  highly  prized,  to  the  gaze  of  an 
unfeeling  multitude, — and  this  for  a  scanty  and  pre- 
carious subsistence, — Beatrice !  the  thought  is  dis- 
traction ! " 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  again  wildly  paced 
the  room.  Some  moments  of  silence  ensued,  when 
he  was  arrested  by  the  gentle  tones  of* that  loved 
voice,  whose  accents  of  music  could  at  any  moment 
calm  the  rising  tide  of  passion  within  his  breast.  He 
looked  into  those  dark  eyes  beaming  with  enthusiasm, 
and  watched  the  changes  of  her  expressive  face  with 
intense  interest  as  she  spoke.  There  was  an  air  of 
dignity,  firmness,  and  resolution  in  her  aspect  that 
surprised  him.  Hitherto  he  had  regarded  her  only 
as  the  playful  companion  of  his  leisure  moments,  the 
loveliest  flower  of  his  rare  collection,  the  model  "of 
his  favorite  art.  Now  she  seemed  taansformed  by 
some  sudden  and  mysterious  agency  into  an  equal, — 
nay,  a  guide, — a  counsellor. 

"  I  have  indeed  been  nurtured  in  the  lap  of  luxury, 
my  loved  father,"  she  said,  "  and  have  seen  little  of 
the  unfeeling  world  of  which  you  speak,  thanks  to 
the  tender  care  that  has  watched  over  me,  showing 
me  only  its  brightest  images,  and  strewing  my  path 
with  flowers.  But  in  this  hard  world  there  must  be 
many  no^le  hearts,  and  noble  hearts  and  elevated 


A   NOBLE  AETIST.  121 

minds  cannot  be  steeled  to  such  merit  or  blind  to 
such  genius  as  yours.  The  cloud  that  now  obscures 
your  fortunes  will,  I  trust,  pass  away;  but  in  the 
mean  time  I  am  willing,  he'artily  willing  to  sacrifice 
the  luxuries  to  which  I  have  been  accustomed.  Only 
banish  that  anxious  and  pained  expression  from  your 
brow,  smile  on  your  own  Beatrice  as  you  did  yester- 
day, when  your  last  delicate  touch  completed  this 
triumph  of  sculpture,  and  however  humble  our  habi- 
tation may  be,  I  shall  be  more  than  content." 

He  permitted  her  to  lead  him  gently  to  his  favor- 
ite seat,  and  for  a  moment  the  cloud  was  dispelled  as 
he  looked  upon  the  beautiful  image  of  the  lovelier 
reality  before  him.  The  implements  of  his  art  were 
beside  him,  and  he  involuntarily  laid  his  hand  on 
them.  The  touch  appeared  to  throw  a  shuddering 
chill  through  his  frame. 

"  No  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  cannot  make  such  a 
sacrifice  to  mammon.  My  destiny," — he  paused  and 
seemed  lost  amid  conflicting  emotions. 

"  Alas  !  my  dear  father,"  said  Beatrice  in  a  mourn- 
ful tone,  "  that  fearful  word  falls  heavily  on  my  heart. 
Victor  Delorme  dwells  ceaselessly  on  it.  Each  time 
that  I  see  him,  his  fate,  his  destiny,  seems  to  occupy 
all  his  thoughts.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  commit 
ourselves  in  w^ord,  as  well  as  in  deed,  to  the  care  and 
guidance  of  the  only  power  in  which  we  can  securely 
trust  ?  " 

She  spoke  so  gently,  so  sweetly,  that  the  reproach 
conveyed  by  her  words  seemed  not  unbecoming,  even 
though  addressed  to  a  parent. 

"  Victor  is  a  noble  youth,"  said  her  father,  happy, 
6 


122  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

apparently,  to  find  some  less  painful  subject  of  reflec- 
tion than  the  one  his  agitated  spirit  had  dwelt  upon. 
"I  love  him,  for  his  mother,  though  he  does  not 
resemble  her,  was  very  dear  to  me,  and  you  are  her 
living  image,  Beatrice.  You  bear  her  name,  and  in 
all  the  poet's  dream  of  paradise,  or  even  in  his  own 
Beatrice,  he  could  not  have  imagined  or  portrayed  a 
fairer  image.  True  it  is,  that  our  young  kinsman  is 
sometimes  moody,  and  sometimes  touched  with  the 
transcendentalism  of  the  times,  as  well  as  other  eccen- 
tricities, but  these  are  only  fancies  of  youth.  They 
will  pass  away,  and  leave  the  bright  ore  more  valuable 
when  separated  from  the  dross  that  momentarily  ob- 
scures its  lustre." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words,  he  rose  and  approached 
the  door  where  a  hasty  footstep  was  heard.  Appa- 
rently the  guest  was  not  unexpected,  for  he  threw  it 
open  as  if  to  welcome  a  familiar  friend.  With  an  air 
of  disappointment  and  haughty  surprise,  he  drew  up 
his  tall  form  as  he  perceived  a  stranger,  and  one  of 
unprepossessing  aspect,  before  him. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  will,  I  trust,  pardon  this 
intrusion." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  a  slow  and  protracted 
manner,  while  the  eyes  of  the  speaker  seemed  to  take 
a  rapid  inventory  of  all  within  the  apartment,  and 
rested  at  last  on  Beatrice,  who  shrunk  with  instinctive 
aversion  from  his  gaze. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte  will  remember  that  he 
desired  me  to  call  this  evening  at  five  o'clock." 

"  I  have  no  recollection  of  any  such  appointment," 
replied  the  Comte  de  Visconti,  yet  more  haughtily 


A   NOBLE  ARTIST.  123 

and  provoked  at  the  assured  manner  of  a  man  whom 
he  had  never  before  seen,  and  who  had  thus  unwar- 
rantably intruded  with  a  pretended  license  into  his 
apartments.  He  hastily  closed  the  door  behind  him, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  the  bell.  The  unwelcome  visitor 
perceived  that  farther  delay  might  lead  to  unpleasant 
consequences. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  will  pardon  me,"  he  said 
with  an  air  of  humility,  and  hastily  producing  a  letter. 
"  I  received  this  letter  from  one  who  requested  me  to 
deliver  it  punctually  at  five  o'clock,  and  by  a  slight 
change  in  my  commission,  I  obtained  entrance." 

An  expression  of  contempt  marked  the  manner  in 
which  the  missive  was  received  after  this  avowal ;  but 
its  contents  were  apparently  of  deep  interest,  for  the 
Comte  remained  standing  in  the  spot  where  it  was 
presented,  until  several  closely  written  pages  had 
been  carefully  examined. 

"The  letter  demands  no  answer?"  said  the  in- 
truder interrogatively. 

ft  None,"  was  the  laconic  reply ;  and  with  a  low 
reverence,  he  withdrew. 

"  I  regret  now,  my  daughter,"  said  the  count  as 
he  re-entered  the  room  where  Beatrice  anxiously 
awaited  him,  "that  I  requested  Victor  Delorme  to 
pass  an  hour  here  this  evening,  for  I  am  well  aware 
that  his  presence  is  less  agreeable  to  you  than  to  me. 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  leave  you,  for  I  have  received 
intelligence  through  this  unprepossessing  visitor  which 
demands  my  immediate  attention.  How  this  man 
became  possessed  of  a  letter  treating  of  matters  so 
delicate  and  important,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  must 


124  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

seek  the  writer  without  delay.  I  will  therefore  coun- 
termand the  order  I  gave  the  porter  for  the  admission 
of  Victor,  and  " — 

He  was  here  unexpectedly  interrupted.  The  doors 
of  the  adjoining  apartment  were  thrown  open,  and 
the  domestic  announced  "  Monsieur  Delorme."  Be- 
atrice looked  imploringly  at  her  father,  but  after 
saluting  his  young  kinsman  with  his  wonted  polite- 
ness, he  said  hastily,  "  My  daughter,  my  engagement 
admits  of  no  delay.  I  must  therefore  leave  you,  but 
I  shall  return  within  an  hour,"  and  with  a  brief 
apology  to  his  guest,  he  departed. 

"  May  I  hope  that  my  visit  is  not  unwelcome  ?  " 
said  Delorme  in  rather  a  lofty  tone,  for  his  eagle 
glance  had  detected  the  expression  with  which  Bea- 
trice looked  up  to  her  father  on  his  entrance.  "  Let 
me  beg  that  I  may  not  interrupt  your  pleasing  studies, 
or  it  may  be,  more  pleasing  meditations." 

A  bright  blush  rose  in  the  cheek  of  Beatrice  at 
the  last  words,  for  she  knew  from  the  expressive 
glance  that  accompanied  them,  that  more  was  meant 
than  met  the  ear. 

"  My  occupation  this  evening  has  been  quite  light 
enough  even  for  your  taste,  Victor,"  she  replied,  "for 
I  am  well  aware  of  your  aversion  to  serious  occupa- 
tions for  the  gentler  part  of  creation.  I  became 
deeply  interested  in  a  musical  composition  by  one 
of  my  favorite  authors,  and  I  am  sure  some  mistakes 
have  been  made  in  printing  it.  The  patience  it  has 
demanded  to  copy  it  with  such  additions  and  subtrac- 
tions as  to  make  it,  what  it  was  doubtless  intended  to 
be  in  the  original,  might  claim  even  your  sympathy." 


A   NOBLE   AKTIST.  125 

"  You  deem  this,  then,  a  light  occupation  ?  "  in- 
quired Delorme — "  one  which  I  should  think  heavier 
than  the  solution  of  an  intricate  mathematical  prob- 
lem; but  such  are  the  ideas  of  the  age.  Happy 
would  it  be  for  us  if  we  could  return  to  primeval  days, 
when  shepherdesses,  arrayed  in  robes  as  verdant  as 
the  banks  of  wild  thyme  on  which  their  flocks  were 
browsing,  or  white  as  their  fleecy  locks,  sang  their 
sweet,  untaught  harmonies,  without  any  other  accom- 
paniment than  that  of  a  rippling  brook,  or  the  sum- 
mer breeze." 

"Your  ideas  are  not  expressed  with  your  usual 
precision,  Victor,"  said  Beatrice  with  an  arch  smile. 
"  Am  I  to  understand  that  the  shepherdesses,  arrayed 
in  white  or  in  verdant  robes,  uttered  these  untaught 
harmonies,  or  shall  we  ascribe  them  to  the  fleecy 
charge  ?  I  am  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  one  would 
do  nearly  as  well  as  the  other,  though  I  confess  I  am 
not  a  fair  judge,  as  I  have  seen  no  shepherdesses  very 
far  from  this  gay  Capital,  and  heard  no  untaught  har- 
monies except  those  of  the  Tyrolians,  who  sometimes 
figure  in  the  salons  here,  but  whose  music,  like  their 
costume,  loses  its  whole  charm,  when  separated  from 
the  romance  of  their  splendid  waterfalls  and  snow- 
capped mountains." 

"  Romance — waterfalls — snow-capped  mountains," 
echoed  Delorme.  "You  are  now  on  your  favorite 
themes,  Beatrice,  and  mine  also,  though  you  often  ac- 
cuse me  of  insensibility  to  the  beauties  of  nature, " 

"You  misunderstand  me,  Victor,"  interrupted 
Beatrice,  who  was  slightly  agitated  by  the  manner 


126  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

in  which  his  last  words  were  spoken.  "  I  only  under- 
stand nature  in  a  different  sense  from  yours." 

"  Ah,  Beatrice,  how  often  shall  I  have  to  contest 
that  point  with  you  ?  My  belief  is  far  sweeter  than 
your  own :  why  should  you  not  think,  as  I  do,  that  of 
those  fresh  fair  flowers  in  your  fairer  hand,  each  one 
possesses  a  soul  ?  " 

"  Because  we  have  no  warrant  for  such  a  belief," 
replied  Beatrice  calmly,  "  nor  would  I  involve  myself 
in  the  mazes  of  a  philosophy  that  may  end  in  bewil- 
dering my  judgment  and  confusing  all  perceptions 
of  truth  and  principle.  We  cannot  comprehend  each 
other,  Victor, — I  am  too  simple,  too  childlike  for  you. 
Your  ideas  are  too  sublimated,  too  subtile  for  my 
humbler  understanding.  Suffer  me,  then,  to  retain 
the  impressions  received  in  my  earliest  years,  and  do 
not  disturb  the  happy  dreams,  as  you  deem  them,  of 
childish  innocence  and  faith." 

She  spoke  almost  imploringly,  and  her  dark  eyes 
glistened  through  the  tears  with  which  they  were 
momentarily  suffused. 

"  I  would  not  deprive  you  of  those  sweet  memo- 
ries, Beatrice ;  I  would  only  add  to  the  happiness  you 
derive  from  them.  Why  should  you  not,  amid  other 
pleasing  thoughts,  invest  those  beautiful  gifts  of  na- 
ture with  a  hope  of  immortality  ?  As  they  lie  there 
beneath  that  hand  of  statue-like  sympathy  and  grace, 
why  should  we  not  deem  them  alike  animated  by  a 
divine  spirit  ?  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  lightly  touched  the  flowers,  and 
then  the  white  hand  above  them.  Beatrice  gently 


A  NOBLE  ARTIST.  127 

withdrew  her  hand.  The  movement  was  resisted, 
and  the  hand  was  clasped  within  his  own. 

She  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  surprise  and 
almost  of  alarm. 

"  Nay,  Beatrice,  do  not  be  offended  if  I  read  some 
of  the  lines  of  fate  written  in  this  hand.  Even  if  it 
were  pledged  to  another,  he  could  never  attain  the 
summit  of  his  anticipated  happiness.  Your  destiny  is 
linked  with  mine.  It  may  be  that  we  shall  fulfil  this 
destiny  in  the  palaces  of  kings.  Empresses  have  ere 
this  realized  the  dreams  of  glory  dimly  shadowed 
forth  by  those  who  saw  not  into  futurity  as  I  do.  It  is 
vain  to  contend  with  the  decrees  of  fate.  Beatrice 
— thou  wilt  yet  be  mine ! " 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  deep,  low  voice, 
strangely  contrasting  with  the  playful  tones  of  the 
first  part  of  their  conversation.  Beatrice  endeavored 
to  withdraw  her  eyes  from  the  steady,  moveless  look 
which  met  them.  Calm  and  sad,  those  eyes  were 
gazing  in  hers.  As  the  spell-bound  bird,  she  would 
have  given  worlds  to  fly,  yet  she  spoke  not — stirred 
not.  As  the  pure  marble  image  near  her,  she  be- 
came statue-like,  pale  and  immovable. 

A  slight  convulsive  shudder  passed  over  her  frame 
as  the  sound  of  her  father's  approaching  footstep  in  the 
adjoining  room  recalled  her  to  herself.  He  entered, 
and  the  spell  was  broken.  His  own  agitation  was  too 
great  to  permit  him  to  remark  that  of  his  daughter, 
who,  almost  unobserved  by  him,  quitted  the  apart- 
ment. 

The  agitation  of  the  Comte  de  Visconti  was  not 
without  cause.  At  the  epoch  referred  to  by  our 


128  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

story,  the  dark  elements  of  revolution  both  in  Italy 
and  France  were  already  at  work,  and  the  subter- 
ranean mine  was  composed  of  materials  unsuspected 
by  its  victims. 

At  this  period,  the  fortunes  of  men,  too  high-souled 
to  penetrate  designs  so  far  below  them,  were  often 
gradually  undermined  by  those  who  hoped  to  reap 
the  spoils  of  a  princely  estate,  by  accusing  the  noble- 
man to  whom  it  belonged  of  treachery  toward  his 
own  government,  and  the  Comte  de  Visconti  was 
marked  as  one  of  these  victims.  By  the  mysterious 
machinations  of  some  unknown  enemy,  his  words  had 
been  perverted,  his  letters  intercepted,  and  he  found 
himself  suddenly  transported  from  the  highest  pros- 
perity to  the  brink  of  ruin. 

Some  appearance  of  truth  was  afforded  in  these 
machinations  by  the  conduct  and  conversation  of  a 
near  relative  of  the  count.  The  only  surviving  child 
of  a  youthful  and  wayward  sister,  whom  he  had  loved 
with  almost  paternal  fondness,  and  who  had  incurred 
the  lasting  displeasure  of  the  rest  of  her  family  by  an 
imprudent,  and  to  them  repulsive  alliance,  Victor 
Delorme  exercised  an  influence  over  the  mind  of  his 
kinsman  of  which  he  was  himself  unconscious.  For- 
getting the  wild  heedlessness  with  which  this  cher- 
ished companion  of  his  earlier  years  had  disregarded 
all  his  counsels,  as  well  as  the  more  sacred  bonds  of 
parental  authority,  Visconti  remembered  only  her 
days  of  penitential  sorrow,  and  the  last  touching 
words  with  which  she  confided  her  son  to  his  pro- 
tecting care. 

The  pledge  then  given  had  been  nobly  redeemed, 


A   NOBLE   ARTIST.  129 

for  that  child  of  her  love  had  shared  his  warmest  af- 
fection as  well  as  his  ample  fortune.  Perhaps,  to  an 
indulgence  too  unlimited  might  have  been  ascribed 
the  restless  and  uncurbed  spirit  which  looked  with 
contempt  on  all  present  happiness;  and  Victor  De- 
lorme  passed  hours,  and  days,  and  sleepless  nights  in 
the  anticipation  of  events  which,  if  "taken  at  the 
flood,"  were  to  lead  him  to  the  pinnacle  of  fortune. 

He  had  friends,  young,  ardent  and  zealous  friends, 
as  well  as  innumerable  satellites,  for  there  was  a  strange 
fascination  about  him,  that  awed  while  it  attracted. 
Quick,  refined  and  subtile,  his  mind  was  eagerly 
turned  to  every  new  theory  of  the  day,  however  start- 
ling; and  with  rare  gifts  of  grace  and  eloquence, 
he  found  little  difficulty  in  imparting  his  own  ideas 
to  those  who  came  within  the  magical  sphere  of  his 
influence.  Beatrice,  the  gentle,  inexperienced  Bea- 
trice, was  the  only  being  on  whom  he  had  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  exercise  this  mysterious  power.  Years 
had  passed  away  since  she  had  been  deprived  of  the 
guardian  angel  who  had  watched  over  the  morning 
of  her  life ; — yet  there  were  sweet  and  holy  memo- 
ries remaining — there  were  impressions  made  on  that 
young,  pure  heart,  as  inefiaceable  as  if  they  had  been 
engraven  on  adamant;  and  these  impressions  were 
her  only  shield  against  his  refined  subtleties. 

The  relations  of  Delorme  with  his  kinsman  were 
naturally  of  the  most  intimate  character,  and  Beatrice 
had,  in  childhood,  regarded  him  as  a  brother;  but 
time  passed  on,  and  every  added  day  brought  new 
feelings  and  events.  He  saw  her,  almost  without  jeal- 
ousy, promised  to  another,  and  the  personal  attractions 
6* 


130  HOME  AND  THE  WOKLD. 

and  fine  qualities  of  his  rival  only  stimulated  an  ar- 
dent desire  to  supplant  him.  Those  who  were  far 
more  powerful  had  yielded  to  his  influence,  nor  did 
he  doubt  for  a  moment  that  one  so  gentle,  so  timid,  so 
self-distrusting,  would  easily  submit  to  his  ascendency. 

But  the  obstacles  thrown  in  his  way  by  the  quiet 
yet  persevering  resolution  of  Beatrice  to  avoid  him,  as 
far  as  possible,  perplexed  and  embarrassed  him,  while 
his  impatient  temper  could  ill  brook  these  symptoms 
of  distrust  on  her  part,  which  amounted  almost  to 
aversion.  She  rarely  afforded  him  any  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  her  except  in  the  presence  of  her  fa- 
ther ;  and  he  was  betrayed  suddenly,  and  as  he  knew, 
prematurely,  into  the  declaration  of  his  sentiments 
toward  her,  by  the  temptation  of  an  occurrence  so 
rare  as  an  unwitnessed  interview  with  her. 

How  he  reconciled  the  high  ideas  of  honor,  which 
he  professed,  with  his  determination  to  persuade  her 
to  a  union  with  him,  knowing,  as  he  well  did,  the  in- 
dignant surprise  that  the  discoveiy  of  such  a  design 
would  awaken  in  the  breast  of  his  kind  and  indulgent 
protector,  it  would  be  difficult  to  decide.  Yet  he 
formed  this  determination  at  the  same  moment  that 
he  professed  a  warm  attachment  to  his  rival,  and  with 
the  certainty  before  him  that  the  object  of  his  blind 
passion  would  forfeit  the  favor  and  protection  of  her 
fond  but  proud  and  haughty  parent,  by  a  step  so  un- 
warrantable. 

But  to  those  whose  principles,  if  they  deserve  the 
name,  are  warped  by  the  vagaries  of  a  fervid  imagi- 
nation, it  is  easy  to  surmount  all  difficulties ;  and  to 
his  "destiny  "  Victor  Delorme  blindly  committed  him- 


A   NOBLE   AETIST.  131 

self,  in  the  belief  (  he  might  have  thought  it  sincere) 
that  this  destiny  would  guide  him  in  the  path  of  rec- 
titude as  well  as  fortune. 

To  the  influence  of  the  same  mysterious  but  irre- 
sistible destiny  did  he  ascribe  the  impulses  of  his  way- 
ward temper,  which  often  led  him,  against  his  better 
judgment,  amid  scenes  dangerous  alike  to  his  fortunes 
and  his  character.  The  unsettled  and  feverish  state 
of  public  sentiment  afforded  a  wide  scope  for  the  wild 
imaginations  of  bold  and  youthful  adventurers,  and 
the  doctrines  of  lajeune  France^  though  ridiculed  in 
the  public  journals,  were  secretly  conspiring  with 
other  causes  in  laying  the  train  that  was  soon  to  ex- 
plode with  fearful  and  startling  effect. 

Insensibly  he  found  himself  led  on  from  a  group 
of  listening  friends  and  admirers  to  enlarge  the  sphere 
of  his  attractive  influence.  He  was  sought,  consulted, 
relied  on.  Schemes  of  government,  which  might 
have  succeeded  if  men  could  have  been  converted  into 
angels,  were  proposed  for  his  consideration.  The  free- 
dom, with  which  such  dangerous  topics  were  openly 
discussed,  naturally  excited  jealousy  and  alarm  on  the 
part  of  the  ruling  government ;  but  the  feeble  at- 
tempts made  to  repress  this  license,  while  they  mo- 
mentarily smothered  the  flame,  only  served  to  give  it 
more  deep  and  deadly  power,  when  it  should  burst 
forth  with  renewed  life  and  vigor.  But  as  yet  all  was 
tranquil  in  the  metropolis,  as  "  the  smooth  surface  of 
a  summer  sea." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    COURT     AND    A    MINIATURE     BALL. 

As  it  is  not  our  intention  to  lead  our  reader  into 
the  mazes  of  a  historical  novel,  the  period  to  which 
we  refer  being  too  near  the  present  day  to  be  invested 
with  the  romance  afforded  by  the  enchantment  of  dis- 
tance, only  three  of  the  personages  of  the  reigning 
court  will  be  mentioned  in  the  presentation  which  we 
have  seen  practised,  in  anticipation,  in  the  salon  of  the 
Princesse  de  P. 

An  event  so  brief  and  so  unimportant  to  our  story 
would  not  have  been  recorded  but  that  it  was  of  some 
consequence,  at  the  epoch  referred  to,  as  the  beginning 
of  a  social  career  in  the  brilliant  circles  of  the  me- 
tropolis, and  it  might  appear  strange,  to  those  ac- 
quainted with  the  customs  of  the  time,  to  omit  all 
notice  of  it. 

A  rapid  drive  of  a  few  minutes  sufficed  to  trans- 
port Mrs.  Melville  and  her  daughter  to  the  Pavilion 
d'Horloge  at  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries,  where,  with 
other  ladies,  they  were  ushered  through  files  of  liveried 
domestics  and  some  well-armed  guards — unnecessary 
precaution  for  such  gentle  visitors !  and  conducted  up 


A   COUBT   AND   A   MINIATURE   BALL.  133 

the  great  stairway  into  an  ante-room,  where  they  were 
received  by  the  Princesse  de  P. 

The  ladies  were  as  elegantly  attired  as  the  "  mock- 
ery of  woe "  still  worn  by  the  court  admitted,  and 
the  delicately  fair  complexion  of  Constance  looked 
almost  dazzling  by  the  contrast  with  her  black  dress. 
The  conch-shell  tint  of  her  cheek  was  heightened  by 
the  excitement  of  the  novel  scene  on  which  she  was 
about  to  enter ;  and  it  is  not  possible  to  imagine  a 
more  beautiful  young  creature  than  she  looked  at  that 
moment.  The  group  assembled  there  and  unused  to 
see  such  youth  and  loveliness  awaiting  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  sovereign,  from  whose  presence  custom 
had  habitually  excluded  these  graces,  looked  at  her 
with  a  surprise  and  admiration  that  heightened  still 
farther  her  embarrassment  and  her  beauty ;  for  the 
timidity  she  manifested  had  a  peculiar  charm  in  eyes 
accustomed  to  see  only  the  blase  votaries  of  fashion. 

"  We  shall  be  compelled  to  wait  here,"  said  the 
princess  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  afraid  of  being  over- 
heard in  the  adjoining  salon,  "until  the  gentlemen 
who  have  preceded  us,  pass  into  the  apartments  of  the 
Dauphiness  and  the  Duchesse  de  Berri.  I  hope  my 
lessons  have  not  been  forgotten,"  she  added  smiling, 
as  she  looked  at  Constance. 

The  folding  doors  were  at  that  moment  thrown 
open,  and  revealed  a  superb  and  brilliantly-lighted 
salon,  at  the  extremity  of  which  stood  the  Sovereign, 
surrounded  by  the  attending  nobles  of  his  court. 
The  throne,  with  its  regal  decorations,  was  on  the 
side  of  the  room,  as  the  princess  had  indicated  in  the 
rehearsal  of  the  presentation  made  in  her  drawing- 
room. 


X34  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

A  profound  reverence,  as  the  ladies  entered  the 
salon,  was  returned  by  a  graceful  salutation  from  the 
king.  Another  profound  reverence  made  by  the 
ladies,  on  advancing  opposite  the  throne,  was  again 
acknowledged  by  as  courteous  a  bow,  and  the  last 
reverence  was  made  when  a  near  approach  to  majesty 
enabled  the  sovereign  to  say  a  few  words  of  compli- 
ment to  each  of  his  fair  guests. 

The  reception  was  marked  by  that  elegant  courtesy 
which  distinguished  the  monarch,  for  even  the  ene- 
mies of  Charles  X.  accorded  him  the  attributes  of  the 
finished  gentleman.  A  few  minutes  sufficed  for  these 
compliments,  and  the  ladies  glided  through  a  side 
door  near  the  king — an  arrangement  evidently  made 
to  allow  those  who  were  presented,  to  pass  out  of  the 
regal  presence  without  turning  their  backs  on  royalty, 
— and  they  found  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Berri  and  the  dauphiness. 

It  was  difficult  to  realize  so  august  a  personage  as 
the  mother  of  the  enfants  de  France  in  the  little  flaxen- 
haired  duchess,  who,  with  a  robe  of  peasant  brevity, 
was  tripping  about  the  room,  displaying,  with  girlish 
coquetry,  her  only  beauty,  a  pair  of  exquisitely-turned 
feet  and  ankles.  These  feet  were  immortalized  in 
marble  and  bronze  in  shop  windows  and  collections, 
and  the  originals  were  scrutinized  by  her  visitors  at 
the  same  moment  that  her  eye-glass  was  levelled  at 
their  faces. 

The  dauphiness  sighed,  as  she  looked  on  the  lovely 
face  and  form  of  the  blushing  Constance.  Alas  !  the 
ill-starred  daughter  of  Marie  Antoinette  never  lost 
her  consciousness  of  the  instability  of  all  that  is  bright 


A   COURT   AND   A   MINIATURE   BALL.  135 

and  beautiful — of  all  earthly  grandeur  and  happiness. 
There  she  stood  in  quiet  dignity,  but  always  with 
that  deep  shade  of  sadness  on  her  brow.  She  looked 
as  one  to  whom  the  stormy  and  fearful  past  presented 
nothing  that  the  light  of  memory  could  gild,  and  on 
whom  the  lurid  future  gleamed  only  as  the  lightning 
through  the  portentous  thunder-cloud. 

The  ceremony  was  brief,  and  the  reception  closed 
without  farther  incidents  than  those  related.  In  sep- 
arating, the  Princesse  de  P.  again  adverted  to  her 
miniature  ball,  for  which  all  of  the  ladies  were  invited 
guests. 

The  brief  space  that  intervened  between  the  begin- 
ning of  the  social  season  and  Lent  (when  even  the 
fashionable  world  in  all  civilized  countries  pays  res- 
pect to  that  time-honored  observance),  crowded  the 
gayety  that  might  have  sufficed  for  a  year  into  a  few 
weeks,  and  the  Princesse  de  P.  had  been  compelled  to 
•  unite  her  bal  cPenfants  with  the  customary  ceremony 
of  her  weekly  reception.  In  consequence  of  this  ar- 
rangement, there  was  a  large  number  of  persons  pres- 
ent who  came  only  to  be  amused  spectators  of  the 
scene,  without  wishing  or  expecting,  farther  than  this, 
to  participate  in  the  enjoyments  of  the  miniature 
company  of  which  tl*e  ball  was  chiefly  composed. 

It  was  delightful  to  witness  the  elastic  joyousness 
of  these  happy  creatures.  Graceful  as  young  fawns, 
and  with  all  the  pretty  little  elegancies  of  manner 
that  distinguish  the  most  elegant  nation  in  the  world, 
dressed  with  exquisite  taste,  and  crowned  and  gar- 
landed with  flowers,  they  looked  as  fresh  and  beau- 
tiful as  those  flowers.  In  a  light  more  brilliant  than 


136  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

that  of  day,  surrounded  by  the  luxury  of  palace-like 
apartments,  and  with  the  inspiring  aid  of  a  band  of 
the  choicest  musicians,  the  buoyant  groups  moved 
"  on  wings  and  on  tiptoe." 

Many  of  them  were  thoroughly  instructed  in  the 
art  of  Terpsichore,  and  were  models  of  finished  grace. 
Other  tiny  dancers,  as  merry  though  less  accom- 
plished, joined  their  hands  in  what  they  called  the 
petit  rond,  and  gallopped  round  and  round  in  de- 
lighted mirth ;  and  if  occasionally  the  leaders  in  an- 
other band  of  the  galopade  made  a  faux  pas  and 
chanced  to  stumble,  as  not  unfrequently  happened, 
those  following  in  heedless  gayety  behind  fell  over 
them,  and  the  fun  was  redoubled  by  gleeful  shouts 
and  clapping  of  little  hands. 

It  was  impossible  for  any  heart,  however  cold  and 
worldly,  not  to  feel  some  emotion  of  sympathy  and 
pleasure  while  looking  on  such  a  scene.  The  grave 
statesman  unbent  his  brow  and  threw  aside  for  the 
moment  the  load  of  care  that  weighed  on  it ;  diploma- 
tists exchanged  more  frank  and  cordial  salutations 
than  their  wont,  and  even  ladies  of  fashion  forgot 
their  engagements  for  other  places  where  they  might 
act  their  part  instead  of  being  only  quiet  and  almost 
unobserved  spectators. 

Among  the  latter  there  was  one  lady,  who  had 
ensconced  herself  in  the  depths  of  a  luxurious  ber- 
gere,  and,  half  sitting  half  reclining,  looked  carelessly 
through  an  opera-glass  at  the  more  distant  parts  of 
the  charming  picture.  She  was  showily  rather  than 
tastefully  attired,  and  a  certain  exaggeration  of  style 
in  her  appearance  gave  an  indication  of  what  she 


A   COUKT   AND   A   MINIATURE   BALL.  137 

might  be  in  character  and  sentiment.  This  lady  was 
addressed  as  Madame  de  St.  Clair  by  the  princess, 
who,  in  passing  her,  paused  a  moment.  The  lady  rose 
with  some  unwillingness  from  her  downy  seat,  but 
she  did  rise,  as  politeness  required,  to  receive  the  gra- 
cious salutation  of  her  hostess. 

"  I  do  not  perceive  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Clair  here 
this  evening,"  said  the  princess.  "I  hope  she  re- 
ceived our  invitation." 

The  remark  was  made  in  English.  The  lady  re- 
plied in  good  French,  but  with  a  slight  English  accent, 
and  colored  as  she  said,  "  My  daughter  was  much 
flattered  by  your  very  kind  remembrance  and  invita- 
tion, madame,  but  I  thought  you  might  have  forgot- 
ten that  she  is  not  quite  young  enough  to  profit  by 
your  amiable  proposition." 

"  She  is  then  in  society  ?  "  inquired  the  princess. 

"  Oh,  no !  madame,"  replied  the  lady,  quickly. 
"  Nina  is  in  reality  a  child.  She  is  only  fifteen ;  but 
she  has  grown  so  very  tall  and  womanly  that  even 
those  who  know  me  best  are  becoming  quite  sceptical 
about  her  age." 

The  princess  shrugged  her  fair  shoulders  almost 
imperceptibly,  and  passed  on.  She  had  seen  the 
young  daughter  of  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  and  had 
been  struck  by  her  beauty.  Indeed  the  invitation  on 
the  present  occasion,  though  it  included  the  mother, 
was  intended  for  the  daughter.  She  suspected,  and 
not  without  reason,  that  the  worldly  and  fashionable 
mother  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  a  rival  in  her 
daughter's  charms,  and  that  in  her  precocious  growth 
and  beauty,  Nina  would  have  been  that  rival.  She 


138  HOME  AND  THE  WOBLD. 

could  not  have  heard  "  sighs  for  a  daughter,  with  un- 
wounded  ear." 

Madame  de  St.  Clair  was  one  of  those  waifs  on 
the  ocean  of  fashion  that  had  been  brought  from  afar 
by  the  billows,  and  was  resting  on  the  edge  of  the 
beach,  in  apparent  danger  of  being  taken  unwillingly 
back  by  the  next  ebb  of  the  tide,  or  else  remaining 
stationary  until  the  light  sparkling  foam,  that  alone 
gave  it  beauty  and  interest  among  surrounding  objects, 
should  melt  away  beneath  the  sun,  or  be  congealed 
by  the  gray  frost  of  time.  The  sun  and  the  frost  had 
not  yet  come  with  burning  heat  and  chilling  blight  to 
leave  her  desolate,  as  all  are  destined  to  be  who  are 
profoundly  and  invariably  selfish,  as  she  was. 

Had  she  been  fifteen  years  younger,  Madame  de 
St.  Clair  would  have  been  precisely  in  the  position 
best  suited  for  the  heroine  of  a  French  romance, 
where  lajeune  veuve  is  always  the  chosen  favorite  for 
that  most  important  character  among  the  dramatis 
personse  of  the  piece.  But  the  charms  of  the  splen- 
did widow  were  too  completely  matured  by  these  un- 
lucky years,  and  it  required  all  her  tact  and  ingenuity 
to  parry  the  advances  of  the  dreaded  monster,  tune. 
Her  figure  was  rather  too  tall  and  thin  for  the  belle 
femme,  which  she  now  aspired  to  be,  but  a  pair  of 
very  bright  black  eyes,  and  hair  of  jet  in  which  she 
took  good  care  never  to  permit  a  line  of  silver  to  be 
perceived,  with  symmetrical  and  regularly  arched  eye- 
brows of  the  same  raven  hue,  contrasted  well  with 
a  complexion  of  creamy  whiteness,  which,  though 
called  sallow  in  the  day  by  malicious  people,  with  a 
little  adventitious  aid  looked  brilliant  in  the  becom- 


A  COUET  AND  A   MINIATURE  BALL.  139 

ing  light  thrown  over  it  from  the  lustres  of  Parisian 
salons. 

The  tact  and  ingenuity,  that  preserved  her  youth- 
ful appearance,  had  sufficed  to  introduce  Madame  de 
St.  Clair  to  the  beau  monde ;  and  besides  the  advan- 
tages of  these  qualities,  she  possessed  the  additional 
one  of  the  golden  key,  which  sometimes  admits  strange 
visitors  in  great  places.  Her  wealth  was  on  the  same 
splendid  scale  with  her  dress,  her  complexion,  and  her 
pretensions;  for  old  Mr.  Sinclair,  besides  the  favor  of 
making  her  his  wife,  added  the  still  greater  favor  of 
making  her  his  widow  in  a  few  years  after  she  had 
bartered  her  liberty  for  his  gold.  Madame  de  St. 
Clair,  as  she  now  called  herself,  desired  the  past  to 
be  obliterated  ;  and  but  for  "  one  fatal  remembrance," 
her  enjoyment  of  her  position  would  have,  been  com- 
plete. 

This  "  bleak  shade  "  crossed  her  mind  occasionally 
in  the  thought  of  the  tenure  by  which  she  held  her 
ample  jointure.  The  handsome  widow  had  a  daugh- 
ter, and  her  lord  had  made  a  will  in  favor  of  that 
daughter.  The  old  father,  foreshadowing  the  future, 
had  indulged  his  eccentric  humor  in  declaring  it  to 
be  his  last  will  that  his  wife  should  have  the  enjoy- 
ment of  his  wealth  until  the  marriage  of  his  daughter, 
when  the  whole  property  should  be  transferred  to 
his  darling  Nina,  not  doubting,  as  the  will  intimated, 
that  the  deep  and  mutual  affection  of  persons  in  so 
tender  a  relation  would  prevent  any  difficulty  from 
arising  between  the  mother  and  daughter.  As  a  far- 
ther security  for  this  good  understanding  on  both 
sides,  the  will  declared  that,  if  Nina  should  marry 


140  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

against  her  mother's  consent,  the  whole  property 
should  revert  to  a  distant  relative  of  the  testator. 

These  singular  provisions  were,  happily  for  Ma- 
dame de  St.  Clair,  unknown  to  the  world,  and  the 
secret  was  carefully  kept  from  her  daughter ;  but  her 
ingenuity,  subtle  as  it  was,  could  not  suffice  to  conceal 
them  from  certain  witnesses,  who  were  only  silenced 
by  large  sums  sent  and  received,  from  time  to  time, 
without  word  or  comment. 

The  effect  of  the  will  was,  as  frequently  happens, 
precisely  the  opposite  of  the  testator's  wish ;  but  as 
our  story  will  develop  its  consequences,  we  will  not 
anticipate  the  result. 

She  had  resumed  her  seat,  and  was  levelling  her 
glass  at  all  that  she  deemed  of  any  interest  in  the 
scene  around  her,  when  it  fell  upon  an  elegant  young 
man,  who  had  apparently  just  entered  the  room.  His 
fine  countenance  beamed  with  an  expression  of  be- 
nevolence, as  he  looked  at  the  happy  creatures  en- 
gaged in  their  innocent  sport,  and  he  was  so  much 
occupied  with  them  that  he  did  not  at  once  perceive 
the  "nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles"  which 
invited  him  to  a  nearer  approach  to  Madame  de  St. 
Clair.  At  length  she  succeeded  in  attracting  his  at- 
tention, and  by  degrees,  as  the  gracefully  yielding 
throng  permitted,  he  approached  her. 

"  It  has  been  quite  an  age  since  I  have  seen  you," 
she  said,  offering  him  her  hand.  "  The  gay  season  is 
half  over,  and  you  have  been  losing  every  thing. 
Where  have  you  been  all  this  time  ?  We  could  not 
afford  to  spare  a  personage  so  important  to  us  as 
Mr.  Reginald  Villiers." 


A   COURT  AND   A   MINIATURE  BALL.  141 

This  was  said  in  French.  As  the  princess  had 
done,  the  young  man  seemed  to  take  rather  a  ma- 
licious pleasure  in  replying  in  English. 

"  Mr.  Reginald  Villiers  has  not  quite  so  exalted 
an  opinion  of  his  importance,"  he  said  smiling,  and 
passing  over  her  question,  in  which,  as  he  rightly 
supposed,  she  really  felt  very  little  interest,  "  and  to 
judge  of  the  past  from  the  present,  I  should  not 
imagine  you  had  been  very  dull  here.  I  have  never 
been  in  a  scene  of  more  delightful  gayety.  Only  look 
at  that  lovely  little  '  three  year  old '  couple,  which  a 
mischievous  boy  is  linking  together  with  the  same 
garland  of  flowers,  and  that  petit  rond  of  bright  little 
faces  and  shining  locks  !  What  a  pity  it  is  that  Rubens 
could  not  have  had  such  models  instead  of  making 
clumsy  angels  out  of  his  own  children ! "  And  he 
continued  to  find  new  objects  of  admiration  through- 
out the  bands  of  little  dancers. 

"  Yes,  it  is  pretty  enough,"  said  Madame  de  St. 
Clair  with  a  suppressed  yawn,  "  but  this  sort  of  thing 
soon  becomes  tiresome.  I  hate  children — they  make 
such  an  intolerable  noise.  It  is  impossible  to  have 
any  rational  conversation,  where  they  are." 

"  Hate  children  !  "  Mr.  Reginald  Villiers  was  too 
polite  to  repeat  the  words,  but  his  expressive  eyes  did. 
They  conveyed  the  thought  of  his  warm  ingenuous 
heart,  and  there  was  something  very  like  disgust 
almost  visible  in  them. 

"Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  used  quite  so 
strong  a  word,"  said  Madame  de  St.  Clair  rather  apol- 
ogetically, "especially  as  it  is  fashionable  now  to 
play  La  bonne  mere-,  as  the  princess  and  some  other 


142  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

distinguished  ladies  are  doing  here  to-night.  There, 
is  really  a  pretty  child,"  she  added,  as  if  to  efface  the 
unpleasant  impression  she  had  made,  by  endeavoring 
to  assume  some  interest  in  the  little  dancers. 

She  pointed  towards  a  lovely  child  of  six  years 
old,  whose  blue  eyes  and  dimpled  cheeks  and  golden 
ringlets  we  have  seen,  before  her  appearance  at  the 
bal  d' enfant s  of  the  Princesse  de  P.  It  was  our 
own  Alice. 

At  that  moment  the  little  Alphonse,  who  was  mas- 
ter of  the  ceremonies,  sprung  forward,  exclaiming, 
"  ah,  my  partner,  you  are  then  come  at  last ! "  And 
seizing  Constance  eagerly  by  both  hands,  he  led  her 
into  the  midst  of  the  tiny  circle.  The  position  was  a 
conspicuous  one,  as  there  was  no  other  young  lady 
near  her,  yet  she  was  perfectly  self-possessed,  for  she 
felt  at  home,  surrounded  by  sympathetic  innocence 
and  loveliness,  and  she  joined  in  the  dance  with  grace- 
ful ease,  her  radiant,  happy  smile,  like  a  joyous  sun- 
beam, dispensing  pleasure  wherever  it  lighted. 

Reginald  looked  at  her  with  all  his  soul  as  well  as 
his  eyes.  Was  this  the  original  of  some  portrait,  of 
which  he  retained  a  vague  recollection,  or  had  he 
ever  heard  of  some  one  who  resembled  this  ideal 
of  all  he  had  ever  imagined  of  the  beautiful — the 
happy — the  true  ? 

"  Who  is  that  lovely  creature  ?  "  he  almost  invol- 
untarily exclaimed. 

Madame  de  St.  Clair  levelled  her  eye-glass  at  Con- 
stance. 

"  It  is  doubtless  the  young  Italian  beauty  of  whom 
every  body  has  heard,  but  nobody  has  yet  seen,"  she 


A  COURT  AND  A  MINIATURE  BALL.       143 

replied.  "  You  observe  the  Comte  de  Visconti  and  his 
nephew,  Monsieur  Victor  Delorme,  are  near  her,  and 
looking  at  her  with  evident  admiration." 

Reginald  felt  a  chill  of  disappointment.  The 
beautiful  vision  was  still  before  him,  but  it  had  lost 
its  most  potent  spell. 

"  It  is  singular,"  he  said,  almost  soliloquizing.  "  It 
must  be  fancy,  but  I  have  some  vague  idea  that  I 
have  seen  that  young  lady  before,  and  that  she  is  not 
Italian." 

"  It  must  have  been  in  a  dream  then,"  said  Mad- 
ame de  St.  Clair,  laughing,  "  for  no  one  here  has  ever 
seen  the  Signorina  Visconti  before.  With  all  your 
prepossessions  in  favor  of  the  ladies  you  are  so  amiable 
as  to  call  our  belles  compatriotes^  you  will  never  find 
any  among  our  very  young  ladies  to  compare  with 
this  beautiful  signorina.  Look  at  her  air,  her  style ; 
every  movement  has  the .  natural  expressive  grace 
of  her  classic  land  of  Italy.  Look  at  her  faultless 
toilette  : — that  robe  of  pure  transparent  white,  every 
fold  in  its  right  place,  and  fitting  her  round  and 
slender  waist  to  a  charm ;  every  thing  perfect,  even 
to  the  delicate  edge  of  lace  and  the  single  row  of 
orient  pearls,  their  whiteness  blended  and  almost  lost 
in  the  fairness  of  her  neck.  Look  at  the  exquisite 
manner  in  which  her  fine  hair  is  braided,  with  just 
enough  of  the  blossoms  of  the  eglantine  to  draw  the 
eye  by  a  natural  transition  from  their  color  to  her 
cheek, — and  tell  me  frankly  if  you  have  ever  seen 
any  thing  to  compare  with  her  among  your  com- 
patriotes  ?  " 

The  last  part  of  her  question  was  lost,  for  Regi- 


144  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

nald  had  followed  the  strong  bent  of  his  own  thoughts 
and  wishes,  and  before  the  remarks  of  Madame  de 
St.  Clair  were  concluded,  he  had  moved  forward  in 
the  direction  of  the  supposed  signorina. 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  that  a  spirited  young 
man  would  not  rest  quite  satisfied  with  such  an  in- 
definite assurance  as  that  given  by  Madame  de  St. 
Clair  of  the  identity  of  Reginald's  beautiful  dream 
with  the  Signorina  Visconti.  He  was  too  much  in- 
terested not  to  inquire  more  closely,  and  half  an 
hour  after  Madame  de  St.  Clair  had  given  her  very 
patriotic  opinion  on  the  merits  of  our  ladies,  she  saw 
Reginald  conversing  with  Constance,  and  a  wonderful 
degree  of  frankness  and  unaffected  cordiality  seemed 
to  characterize  their  first  introduction.  The  supposed 
signorina  was  replying  with  an  arch  smile  to  some- 
thing Reginald  had  said  to  her,  as  Madame  de  St. 
Clair  passed  by  them  on  her  way  out ;  and  this  cir- 
cumstance, trifling  as  it  was,  sufficed  completely  to 
mystify  her.  She  well  knew  that  a  young  Italian 
lady,  brought  up  in  seclusion  like  that  of  a  convent, 
would  not  dare  to  bestow  a  smile  on  any  cavalier,  es- 
pecially one  young,  handsome,  and  a  stranger. 

But  Reginald  saw  not  the  look  of  astonishment 
which  Madame  de  St.  Clair  threw  on  him  as  she 
passed,  nor  did  he  see  any  thing  in  the  room,  in  the 
house,  in  the  world,  but  the  beautiful  creature  before 
him.  He  was  already  ages  in  love.  He  looked  at 
those  eyes  beaming  with  a  thousand  bright  happy 
thoughts ;  at  that  fair  brow  so  placid  and  then  so  arch ; 
at  the  fairy  dimples  around  the  chiselled  lip ;  and  each 
succeeding  expression  was  more  lovely  than  the  last. 


A   COURT  AND   A   MINIATUEE  BALL.  145 

Constance  saw  only  an  elegant  young  man  of  whom 
she  had  often  heard,  who  was  associated  with  all  her 
pleasant  remembrances  of  home,  and  whose  fine  ex- 
pressive eyes  were  bent  upon  her  with  an  admiration 
that  a  less  keen  perception  would  have  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  misunderstand. 

As  Madame  de  St.  Clair  passed,  they  were  speak- 
ing of  home — of  Vivian,  of  Evelyn  ;  and  the  arch 
smile  accompanied  the  confession,  that  Constance 
had  until  the  present  moment  believed  or  affirmed 
Reginald  was  only  a  being  of  Evelyn's  fancy,  and 
had  always  contended  that  he  was  a  myth. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

REMINISCENCES    FOE    THE    DILETTANTI. 

THE  Palais  Royal,  or  the  Palais  National,  or  the 
Palais  Imperial,  as  it  is  called  by  turns,  at  the  period 
to  which  our  story  refers,  was  altogether  different 
from  what  it  has  ever  been  since.  The  mere  traveller, 
or  the  temporary  sojourner  in  the  great  metropolis 
of  France,  regards  the  Palais  Royal  only  as  a  curious 
collection  of  shops,  where  every  thing  may  be  bar- 
gained for  and  bought,  perhaps  cheaper  than  else- 
where, because  the  articles  so  lavishly  and  osten- 
tatiously displayed  are  generally  of  a  more  showy 
and  less  substantial  quality  than  those  of  more  regular 
establishments, — as  the  place  where  the  Trois  Freres 
provenqaux  hold  their  court,  dispensing  costly  luxu- 
ries in  all  the  delicacies  in  and  out  of  every  season, 
indicated  by  the  colossal  fruits  always  displayed  at  the 
windows, — or  they  have  seen  it,  until  very  recently, 
a  place  of  exposition  publique  for  any  thing  to  be 
exhibited,  especially  an  annual  show  of  enormous 
collections  of  pictures,  each  worse  than  the  other, 
or  if  a  few  gems  might  be  found  among  them,  they 


REMINISCENCES   FOR  THE   DILETTANTI.  147 

appeared  as  would  "  two  grains  of  wheat  in  a  bushel 
of  chaff." 

At  the  period  of  our  narrative,  the  Palais  Royal 
was  a  magnificent  ducal  residence.  Nominal  royalty 
was  at  the  Tuileries,  the  actual  influence  was  at  the 
Palais  Royal.  The  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  wealthiest 
and  most  powerful  subject  in  Europe,  held  his  court, 
for  such  it  might  be  called,  at  this  princely  palace 
which  it  had  been  his  pleasure  and  pride  to  adorn, 
and  it  was  a  palace  to  live  in  as  well  as  to  look  at,  for 
art  had  been  exhausted  in  giving  it  every  comfort  as 
well  as  every  luxury. 

Envy  was  silenced  by  the  conduct  and  deportment 
of  his  amiable  consort  and  her  lovely  family  consist- 
ing of  eight  children,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  the 
Due  de  Chartres,  who  had  not  attained  his  majority, 
but  even  at  that  youthful  age  giving,  in  his  regal 
and  gracious  bearing,  the  indication  of  those  amiable 
qualities  that  for  a  period,  brief  alas  !  made  him  the 
pride  and  darling  of  France.  He  was  of  a  noble 
height ;  his  clear  blue  eyes  were  expressive  but  calm, 
and  the  fairness  of  a  complexion  that  might  have 
been  deemed  effeminate  was  relieved  by  a  light 
moustache,  some  shades  darker  than  the  chestnut 
brown  of  his  hair. 

The  two  princesses,  Louise  and  Marie,  we  have 
already  adverted  to  as  among  the  few  specimens  of 
youth  and  beauty  permitted  to  find  their  way  into 
the  courtof  the  sovereign  under  the  ancien  regime  / 
and  their  fair  young  faces  among  the  aged  courtiers, 
and  time-faded  or  rouge-renewed  beauties  of  the  court, 
looked  like  roses  surrounded  by  their  attending  thorns. 


148  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

The  sisters  presented  an  entire  contrast  in  person, 
though  they  were  equally  distinguished  by  the  gentle 
graces  of  their  manners.  The  elder,  the  Princess 
Louise,  better  known  since  as  the  Queen  of  Belgium, 
was  a  fair, — the  fairest,  blonde.  Soft  blue  eyes  and 
hair  of  the  lightest  shade  of  golden  brown  accorded 
well  with  her  delicate  beauty.  Her  rounded  form 
showed  to  most  advantage  in  her  evening  costume, 
which  admitted  of  a  display  of  her  exquisitely  fair 
neck,  and  shoulders,  and  arms. 

The  Princess  Marie,  whose  talent  in  sculpture 
has  rendered  her  one  of  the  celebrites  in  that  beauti- 
ful art,  was,  in  coloring  and  figure,  the  exact  opposite 
of  her  Hebe  sister.  Her  slight  form  was  taller,  her 
complexion  paler  and  less  fair,  her  hair  dark,  and  her 
dark  eyes,  shaded  by  long  black  lashes,  were  timidly 
cast  down,  as  if  her  thoughts  were  often  far  away 
from  the  gay  and  brilliant  scenes  by  which  she  was 
surrounded. 

The  Princess  Clementine  was  a  beautiful  child, 
with  long  flowing  ringlets,  a  fine  complexion,  and  an 
air  that  would  have  graced  "  the  daughter  of  a  hun- 
dred kings." 

Of  the  Dukes  Nemours,  Joinville,  D'Aumale  and 
Montpensier,  the  world  has  since  so  often  heard,  that 
it  would  appear  like  recalling  the  remembrance  of  a 
dream  to  say  that  the  first  was  a  fair-haired  youth, 
small  in  stature  but  noble  in  bearing ;  the  second,  a 
handsome  dark-eyed  boy,  just  preparing  for  his  first 
marine  expedition  ;  and  the  two  last  named,  sprightly 
children  who  were  encouraged  in  their  visits  to  the 
drawing-room,  to  distribute  rose-colored  programmes 


REMINISCENCES   FOE  THE  DILETTANTI.  149 

for  a  concert  or  pay  their  compliments,  by  the  kind- 
est and  most  indulgent  of  mothers. 

Such  was  the  family  by  whom  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Orleans  were  surrounded ;  and  the  bit- 
terest enemies,  the  most  captious  friends,  have  to- 
gether acknowledged  that  if  a  model  par  eminence 
of  the  domestic  virtues  had  been  sought  for,  it  would 
have  been  found  in  this  noble  family. 

The  position  of  the  duke,  at  that  period,  was 
one  for  which  the  proudest  monarch  might  advan- 
tageously have  exchanged  his  royal  state.  Sur- 
rounded by  every  thing,  within  and  without,  that 
could  make  life  beautiful,  honored  and  caressed  by 
all  classes, — the  patron  of  the  arts,  and  with  a  colossal 
revenue,  increasing  daily  by  judicious  management, 
which  enabled  him  to  rescue  genius  from  oblivion 
and  poverty  from  despair,  his  influence  was  alike  felt 
and  seen  by  all.  His  court,  for  such  it  might  be 
called,  received  daily  accessions  from  different  quar- 
ters ;  and  he  was  accused,  whether  justly  or  unjustly 
politicians  and  historians  must  determine,  of  fostering 
a  spirit  of  discontent  and  faction  in  the  numerous 
satellites  who  revolved  by  thousands  in  his  brilliant 
orbit. 

Strangers  were  often  honored  by  the  notice  of  the 
princely  duke,  for  he  remembered,  with  kindness  and 
gratitude,  that  in  a  time  when  he  had  been  an  exile 
and  a  wanderer  in  a  foreign  land,  he  had  been  taken 
to  many  hearts  and  homes. 

It  was  on  the  occasion  of  a  large  dinner  party,  to 
be  succeeded  by  a  concert,  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville and  their  daughter  were  favored  by  an  invitation 


150  JIO31E   AND  THE   "WORLD. 

to  the  Palais  Royal.  Of  the  first  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment it  would  be  superfluous  to  offer  a  descrip- 
tion, as  it  may  be  imagined  by  putting  together  all 
the  appliances  of  ormoulu  ornaments  of  classic  form 
and  el  dorado  brilliancy,  heaps  of  massive  and  highly 
wrought  gold  and  silver  plate,  the  porcelain  of  Sevres, 
the  crystal  of  Bohemia,  garlanded  with  flowers  or 
crowned  with  Hesperian  fruits ;  while  all  that  the 
most  dainty  epicure  could  have  demanded,  in  delicate 
viands  or  faultless  wines,  were  proffered  in  unlimited 
profusion. 

Perhaps  no  more  suitable  place  may  present  itself 
for  the  observation  that  in  a  city,  which  the  gastro- 
nome finds  his  sybaritic  paradise,  the  most  elaborate 
and  splendid  dinner  ever  given  never  exceeds  the 
limit  of  an  hour  and  a  half.  Let  those  imitators  who 
torment  their  wearied  guests  with  sittings  of  three 
and  four  mortal  hours  of  painful  ennui,  after  appetite 
is  satisfied  and  conversation  exhausted,  and  who  still 
persist  in  furnishing  an  interminable  variety  of  un- 
tasted  delicacies,  served  with  funereal  slowness,  take 
a  hint,  if  their  eyes  should  ever  chance  to  light  on 
these  pages. 

The  invitations  for  the  concert  which  succeeded 
the  dinner  were  numerous,  and  many  strangers  were 
happy  in  finding  their  names  on  the  list  of  distin- 
guished guests,  for  "  there  were  giants  in  those  days," 
and  a  concert  was  an  event  to  be  anticipated  with  no 
small  pleasure. 

Will  the  dilettanti  believe  that  the  illustrious 
names  of  Pasta,  Sontag,  and  Malibran — Garcia,  La- 
blache,  Rubini,  Santini,  and  most  wonderful  of  all, 


REMINISCENCES  FOB  THE  DILETTANTI.  151 

Paganini,  were  all  contemporary,  and  in  the  height 
of  their  glory  at  this  precise  period  ?  Yet  if  they  will 
examine  the  musical  records  of  the  day,  they  will  find 
that  those  distinguished  votaries  of  the  "  heavenly 
maid,"  each  name  alone  sufficing  to  fill  a  journal  of 
art,  sustained  each  other,  and  by  their  united  genius 
produced  results  that  the  musical  world  never  dream- 
ed of  before,  and  seems  not  likely,  from  present  ap- 
pearances, to  realize  again. 

The  delighted  audience  "held  their  breath  to 
hear  "  the  superb  basso  of  the  great  Lablache  (who 
had  not  then  attained  the  obesity  which  afterwards 
made  him  almost  as  remarkable  as  his  voice  of  mu- 
sical thunder),  united  with  the  young  pure  soprano  of 
Sontag. — And  Malibran,  in  the  pride  of  her  youth 
and  beauty,  with  a  voice  alternately  clear  and  high  as 
a  mocking-bird,  and  sinking  to  the  richest  and  deepest 
contralto,  her  dark  eyes  flashing  with  enthusiasm,  or 
shedding  tears,  real  tears  of  tenderness,  as  she  lost 
her  own  identity  in  the  sentiments  she  expressed. — 
And  Paganini, — with  his  dark  mysterious  face,  that 
looked  as  if  he  had  just  invoked  some  magical  spirit, 
— now  drawing  from  his  wondrous  violin  strains  of 
mirth  that  made  the  hearts  around  him  dance  with 
outbursting  joy,  and  then  reversing  the  instrument, 
reducing  it  to  a  single  string,  and  letting  loose  the 
horse-hair  of  the  bow  until  it  floated  like  a  cloud, 
bringing  out  from  beneath  it  sounds  that  sometimes 
resembled  the  church  organ,  or  still  more  wonderful, 
electrifying  the  audience  by  a  sound  like  the  deep  wail 
of  a  bereaved  mother,  or  a  song  as  soft  as  her  gentle 
lullaby  to  a  sleeping  infant.  But  why  tantalize  the 


152  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

reader  with  such  recollections  ?    We  will  not  indulge 
them  farther. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  say  that  the  audience 
was  charmed — enchanted — enthusiastic,  and  that  at 
every  interval  the  music  allowed  the  gifted  musi- 
cians received  their  rapturous  plaudits,  and  from  time 
to  tune  the  encouraging  compliments  of  the  princely 
host  and  hostess. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  be  thoroughly  skilled  in 
music  to  understand  and  enjoy  sounds  that  rivalled 
every  thing  expressive  and  beautiful  in  nature  as  well 
as  art ;  and  a  child  of  nature  might  have  appreciated 
these  great  artists,  as  well  as  the  amateurs  and  connois- 
seurs who  were  assembled  on  the  occasion  referred  to. 

There  are  few  young  people  of  our  day,  possessing 
the  advantages  of  an  elegant  as  well  as  solid  educa- 
tion, who  have  not  made  the  discovery  that  the  study 
of  music  to  some  extent  in  early  life,  as  well  as 
that  of  drawing,  may  have  an  important  influence 
on  the  career  of  the  man.  The  "  eloquent  orator  " 
has  often  been  heard  to  regret  that  his  ear  and  voice 
had  not  been  trained  in  childhood,  and  the  mechani- 
cian, who  finds  his  fingers  unable  to  obey  the  quick 
impulses  of  his  fertile  brain,  sighs  as  he  lays  down  the 
pencil  with  which  he  wished  to  trace  some  idea  that 
promised  him  success  and  fortune. 

Reginald  Villiers  was  one  of  the  audience  at  the 
concert,  and  one  of  those  who  had  not  held  as  naught 
the  advantage  of  cultivating  a  taste  for  music.  His 
object  in  his  European  tour  had  not  been  to  kill  time 
in  idle  frivolities  or  deeper  dissipation,  but  to  make 
every  scene  on  which  he  entered,  whether  grave  or 


REMINISCENCES   FOB   THE   DILETTANTI.  153 

gay,  conducive  to  his  improvement,  mental  or  moral, 
and  he  entered  on  none  that  did  not  accord  with  the 
rational  and  manly  course  of  conduct  he  had  marked 
out  as  his  chart.  He  was  happy  to  avail  himself  of 
every  favorable  opportunity  of  studying  the  manners 
of  the  most  elegant  capital  in  the  world,  and  profit- 
ing by  that  study  as  he  did  by  other  advantages. 
But  on  the  present  occasion  it  must  be  confessed 
that  he  had  another  object  in  view,  and  that  the 
pleasure  he  experienced  in  receiving  an  invitation  to 
the  concert  was  greatly  enhanced  by  the  hope  of  see- 
ing again  a  face  and  form  that  had  been  interwoven 
with  every  thought  since  he  had  first  seen  them. 

He  had  fortunately  been  placed  opposite  to  Con- 
stance, instead  of  being  near  her,  as  the  entertainment 
did  not  admit  of  conversation,  and  he  could  watch 
the  varying  expressions  of  her  countenance  as  she 
sympathized  in  the  strains  of  deep  tenderness  or 
joyous  mirth.  Only  once  the  eyes  of  Constance  met 
his,  and  he  fancied  that  she  blushed ;  but  her  atten- 
tion was  again  riveted  on  the  musicians,  and  she  looked 
toward  him  no  more. 

The  concert  concluded,  the  company  retired  with- 
out the  formality  of  a  supper, — an  innovation  as  yet 
unknown.  It  would  justly  have  been  considered  pre- 
posterous to  offer  so  idle  a  compliment  at  ten  or 
eleven  o'clock  to  guests  who  had  dined  at  six  or 
seven. 

Reginald  joined  Mr.  Melville's  party  as  they  re- 
treated to  the  ante-room  where  the  carriages  were 
announced.  As  may  have  been  inferred  from  the 
interview  of  the  preceding  evening,  which  had  awak- 
7* 


154  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

ened  so  much  astonishment  in  Madame  de  St.  Clair, 
he  had  already  been  presented. 

"  Is  there  time  left  to  call  on  Mrs.  Belmont  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Melville,  after  Reginald  had  paid  his  de- 
voirs. "  I  have  so  often  been  compelled  to  decline 
her  kind  invitations  lately,  that  I  feel  almost  under 
an  obligation  at  least  to  make  her  an  apologetic  visit 
of  half  an  hour." 

"  It  is  not  eleven  yet,"  replied  Reginald,  looking 
at  his  watch,  "  and  there  would  be  time  between  this 
and  the  '  witching  hour,'  for  the  half  hour  you  pro- 
pose to  bestow  on  Mrs.  Belmont.  There  might  be 
some  danger  of  leaving  the  glass  slipper  there,"  he 
added  with  a  smile,  and  glancing  at  Constance. 

"  But  as  only  a  young  prince  could  find  it,"  re- 
turned Constance,  laughing,  "  there  is  no  danger ; 
for  we  are  about  to  leave  the  only  young  princes  I 
have  ever  seen,  behind.  I  do  not  think  the  Due  de 
Chartres  will  honor  Mrs.  Belmont's  soiree." 

"  Yet  princes  have  been  seen  in  stranger  places," 
said  Mr.  Melville,  "  for  if  wealth  and  luxury  consti- 
tuted all  that  they  court,  Mr.  Belmont  might  easily 
command  their  society.  His  establishment  is  next  in 
those  qualities  to  the  palaces  here." 

Mr.  Melville  had  not  exaggerated  the  magnifi- 
cence of  Mr.  Belmont's  establishment,  the  interior  of 
Avhich,  as  well  as  its  elaborately  illuminated  exterior, 
the  party  holding  the  consultation  just  recorded  will 
soon  see,  as  they  determined  on  the  visit  of  half  an 
hour  to  Mrs.  Belmont.  But  leaving  them  a  few 
minutes  time  for  the  drive,  which,  as  it  was  in  the 
Chauss6e  d'Antin,  then  in  some  of  its  grand  hotels 


REMINISCENCES   FOR  THE   DILETTANTI,  155 

beginning  to  rival  the  noble  Faubourg,  it  will  not 
take  them  long  to  accomplish,  a  brief  sketch  may 
meantime  be  given  of  the  inmates  of  the  one  they 
are  about  to  enter. 

But  Mr.  Belmont  and  his  family  were  people  of 
too  much  consequence,  at  least  in  their  own  estima- 
tion, to  be  introduced  at  the  end  of  a  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"GOLD!   GOLD!   GOLD!" 

MK.  BELMONT  could  hardly  call  himself  a  citizen 
of  any  country,  as  he  was,  in  the  broadest  meaning 
of  the  word,  a  cosmopolite,  though  he  claimed  affinity 
with  many,  and  indeed  he  ought  to  have  been  grateful 
to  all;  for,  far  from  finding  the  old  adage  true 'that 
"  a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss,"  he  had  gathered 
"moss,"  or  what  he  valued  more,  money,  in  every 
nation  in  which  he  had  sojourned,  until  his  wealth 
had  become  a  proverb.  He  was  fond  of  magnificence 
and  show,  though  often  penurious,  in  the  extreme, 
where  he  ought  to  have  been  liberal.  But  such  was 
his  ardent  desire  for  distinction  among  the  great  and 
fashionable  in  society,  that  he  relinquished,  almost 
without  a  sigh,  his  grasp  upon  the  thousands  .daily 
required  to  support  his  splendid  establishment. 

Mrs.  Belmont  was  a  quiet  and  rather  a  melan- 
choly looking  person,  who  seemed  to  be  quite  out  of 
place  in  her  department,  and  she  was  always  too 
happy  to  yield  the  pas  to  her  daughter  Almeria,  who, 
without  hesitation,  assumed  the  reins  of  government 
in  the  household,  and  subjected  every  one  in  it,  even 
Mr.  Belmont  himself,  to  her  imperious  domination. 


"  GOLD  !    GOLD  !    GOLD  !  "  157 

Almeria  Belmont  had  mistaken  her  vocation  in 
endeavoring  to  present  herself  as  a  finical  lady  of 
fashion.  Nature  had  designed  her,  if  nature  ever  has 
such  a  design,  for  an  actress ;  for  she  was  endowed 
with  wonderful  histrionic  talent,  which,  having  no 
other  outlet,  manifested  itself  in  the  facility  with 
which  she  imitated,  we  may  say  mimicked,  whatever 
peculiarities  of  voice  or  manner  she  perceived  among 
those  whom  she  classed  among  her  "  dear  five  hun- 
dred friends."  Accustomed  to  indulge  every  caprice 
of  her  wayward  fancy,  she  often  "touched  the  brink 
of  all  we  hate  "  by  her  wild  and  extravagant  freaks ; 
but  there  was  beneath  all  this  a  fund  of  cleverness, 
and  occasionally  some  kindliness  of  nature,  and  some 
flowers  of  better  growth  which,  though  almost  hidden 
among  the  weeds  that  had  grown  to  rank  luxuriance, 
might  have  bloomed,  if  these  weeds  could  have  been 
removed  in  tune.  But  the  tares  were  daily  growing 
taller  and  thicker,  and  the  wheat  was  diminishing  in 
proportion,  until  the  apology,  that  "  it  is  only  pretty 
Fanny's  way,"  hardly  sufficed  to  justify  her  conduct 
to  rational  and  sensible  people. 

It  was  a  matter  of  dispute  whether  she  was  hand- 
some or  not,  for  her  style  of  beauty,  if  such  it  could 
be  called,  varied  with  every  new  and  fantastic  dress 
it  was  her  pleasure  to  assume,  and  this  perpetual 
variety,  though  it  must  be  confessed  she  managed  it 
with  artistic  skill,  was  not  calculated  to  please  the  re- 
fined Parisian  taste,  which  admits  of  nothing  but  a 
chaste  simplicity  in  the  costume  of  young  ladies. 
Sometimes  she  would  appear  arrayed  in  gorgeous 
silks  or  velvets,  that  would  have  done  honor  to  her 


158  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

grandmother ; — anon  she  was  to  be  seen  like  a  sylph- 
ide,  all  gauze  and  flowers ; — then  in  oriental  magni- 
ficence blazing  with  jewels  that  a  queen  might  have 
been  proud  to  wear  ;  but  always  seeking  something 
new,  and  throwing  the  carefully  studied  costume 
aside,  as  soon  as  it  had  performed  its  work  of  mys- 
tifying or  astonishing  society  by  its  simplicity  or  its 
splendor. 

So  much  time  and  space  have  been  devoted  to  its 
inhabitants,  that  an  equally  minute  review  of  the  es- 
tablishment itself  might  be  tedious.  It  will  suffice  to 
give  a  single  specimen  of  the  furniture  of  the  salon 
in  the  centre  of  the  gorgeous  suite  of  apartments 
where  the  company  was  assembled,  from  which  the 
rest  may  be  imagined. 

A  divan  of  very  large  circumference  occupied  the 
centre  of  this  lofty  room,  and  was  covered  with  the 
finest  tapestry  that  the  almost  fabulous  skill  of  Gob- 
elin work  could  supply.  This  divan  surrounded  a 
table  composed  of  malachite,  except  the  top,  which 
was  inlaid  with  Florentine  mosaic  of  the  rarest  and 
costliest  workmanship.  In  the  centre  of  this  table 
were  three  ormoulu  cherubs,  as  large  as  life,  with 
wings  outspread,  and  supporting^  on  their  upraised 
hands,  a  large  and  magnificent  corbeille  crowned  with 
flowers,  which  drooped  over  its  sides  in  graceful  pen- 
dant wreaths,  and  rose  up  in  the  centre,  meeting  a 
lustre  of  ormoulu  filled  with  wax  lights,  that  threw 
a  flood  of  radiance  over  this  model  of  art.  After 
this  specimen,  it  would  be  useless  to  speak  of  curtains 
of  crimson  velvet  and  gold,  of  Gobelin  carpets,  of 
endless  mazes  of  mirrors;  far  less  would  there  be 


"  GOLD  !    GOLD  !    GOLD  !  "  159 

time  to  pause  at  the  rich  works  of  art  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  as  well  as  objets  de  virtu,  with  which  the 
apartments  were  profusely  decorated. 

A  favorite  fancy  of  Almeria's  merits  attention, 
though  it  was  one  that  she  had  copied,  and  which  has 
since  become  too  common  to  be  remarked  upon ;  the 
music  which  gave  life  to  the  scene  was  placed  behind 
a  bower  of  freshly  blooming  flowers,  large  enough  to 
have  realized  the  idea  of  &fete  champetre  at  Christmas. 

Almeria  Belmont  was  seated  on  the  divan,  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  by  her  side  sat  Madame  de 
St.  Clair.  They  were  conversing  with  some  anima- 
tion, for  Madame  de  St.  Clair  seemed  to  be  aroused 
from  her  usually  assumed  air  of  graceful  languor,  by 
the  sallies  of  her  companion;  and,  to  judge  from 
an  occasional  furtive  glance,  or  almost  imperceptible 
shrug,  the  "  dear  five  hundred  friends,"  then  and 
there  assembled,  were  not  unfrequently  the  subjects 
of  their  discourse,  as  well  as  of  merciless  criticism. 

An  elaborate  study  of  Almeria's  costume  for  the 
occasion  had  resulted,  as  too  great  an  anxiety  on  the 
subject  often  does  result,  in  an  unfortunate  selection. 
She  had  directed  the  celebrated  Victorine  to  make 
three  dresses  of  different  colors,  that  she  might  de- 
cide definitively  upon  the  exact  color  and  shade  suited 
to  her  complexion,  though  almost  every  tint  of  the 
rainbow  had  often  before  been  put  in  requisition  for 
this  object. 

The  usual  tantalizing  delay  occurred;  for  what 
lady  had  not  sometimes  experienced  the  anxiety  oc- 
casioned by  the  professed  punctuality,  if  it  could 
be  called  by  such  a  name,  of  Mademoiselle  Victo- 


160  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

rine?  The  coiffeur  had  performed  his  part,  to  a 
miracle  ;  the  toilette  was  completed,  in  every  partic- 
ular except  the  robe ;  but  neither  of  the  three  dresses 
had  arrived.  Lights  were  blazing  within  and  with- 
out the  splendid  establishment,  and  the  suppressed 
sound  of  the  musical  instruments,  as  the  artists  ac- 
corded them,  began  to  be  heard  in  the  apartments.  • 

The  door-bell  rang  imperatively.  Was  it  the  ar- 
rival of  the  first  of  the  invited  guests  ?  No !  the 
dresses  at  last  made  their  appearance,  carried  in  tri- 
umphal procession  by  the  obsequious  attendants,  in 
three  gigantic  band-boxes ;  and  were  laid  side  by 
side,  to  invite  the  choice  of  the  happy  owner  of 
such  treasures. 

The  white  one  was  tried  and  rejected.  It  was  too 
simple.  One  white  dress  looked  like  another,  and, 
besides,  white  did  not  accord  with  her  complexion, 
which  was  decidedly  brunette.  The  rose  might  per- 
haps suit  better,  but  the  color  was  too  pale,  and  the 
same  objection  applied  to  pale  rose  color  as  to  white. 
The  last  one  was  tried.  Like  all  the  robes  of  the 
great  mgdiste,  it  fitted  to  perfection.  It  was  a  bril- 
liant shade  of  yellow,  elaborately  ornamented,  and 
the  richness  of  the  material  gave  it  a  heavier  effect ; 
but  there  was  novelty  in  it,  for  a  young  lady  had 
never  been  seen  in  a  similar  one,  and  with  a  gorgeous 
parure  of  emeralds,  Almeria  determined  that  it  should 
electrify  the  world  of  fashion. 

The  fan  a  Vantique,  the  Brussels  lace  handkerchief, 
and  a  bouquet  of  the  rarest  and  most  costly  flowers 
that  art  could  produce  from  the  treasures  of  nature, 
were  successively  presented  by  the  officious  hand- 


"GOLD!  GOLD!  GOLD!"  161 

maidens,  and  Almeria  descended  to  the  receiving- 
rooms  with  delighted  anticipation  of  the  sensation  her 
superb  toilette  would  excite. 

As  she  passed  mirror  after  mirror  in  walking 
through  the  long  suite  of  rooms,  each  reflection  of  her 
image  was  less  and  less  satisfactory  to  herself.  The 
dress  was  rich  and  elegant,  the  emeralds  a  duchess 
might  have  envied ;  but  she  had  never  in  her  own 
eyes  looked  less  pleasing.  She  knew  she  was  young  ; 
she  had  at  times  thought  herself  handsome.  She  was 
tall  and  well  made,  her  eyes  were  black  and  brilliant, 
and  the  color  of  the  dress  was  not  ill  chosen  for  a 
dark  complexion.  But  the  freshness  of  youth,  for 
her  twenty-four  years  might  still  lay  claim  to  that 
freshness,  was  hidden  beneath  the  load  of  finery, 
and  as  she  passed  the  last  mirror,  she  would  have 
given  far  more  than  the  value  of  all  three  of  her 
costly  robes,  if  she  had  contented  herself  with  the 
simple  white  one.  It  was  now  too  late  to  remedy 
the  mistake,  and  an  uncomfortable  consciousness  of 
being  unbecomingly  attired  crept  over  her  spirits, 
and  finished  the  unfortunate  work  of  the  toilette  by 
giving  to  her  countenance  a  restless  and  dissatisfied 
expression. 

The  arrival  of  the  numerous  guests,  with  all  their 
compliments  on  the  elegance  of  the  entertainment 
and  the  charms  of  the  young  hostess,  for  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont  pleaded  indisposition  and  was  absent,  partially 
but  not  entirely  restored  her  self-complacency,  and 
as  she  seated  herself  on  the  divan  by  Madame  de  St. 
Clair,  she  anticipated  more  pleasure,  than  she  had  yet 


162  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

enjoyed,  ID  the  solace  afforded  by  criticising  their  nu- 
merous acquaintance. 

In  this  amiable  and  pleasing  occupation  they  were 
deeply  engaged  when  Mr.  Melville's  party  was  an- 
nounced. ALmeria  rose  to  welcome,  them,  but  a  bitter 
pang  of  envy  shot  through  her  soul,  like  an  envenomed 
dart,  as  her  eye  rested  on  Constance. 

Constance  was  again  attired  in  the  pure  white 
dress,  though  the  practised  eye  of  Madame  de  St. 
Clair  perceived  at  a  glance  that  it  was  not  the  same 
she  had  worn  the  preceding  evening.  But  it  was 
characterized  by  all  which  that  lady  had  triumphantly 
pointed  out  to  Reginald  as  distinguishing  the  charms 
of  the  Signorina  Visconti.  The  same  faultless  purity 
that  she  had  so  much  eulogized,  was  again  observable 
in  it, — every  fold  in  its  right  place,  and  fitting  to  a 
charm.  The  white  flowers  that  ornamented,  without 
too  much  concealing,  her  fine  hair,  were  interwoven 
with  a  few  forget-me-nots, — their  delicate  blue,  as  well 
as  a  bracelet  of  blue  enamel*  and  pearls,  pleasingly 
contrasted  with  her  pure  complexion.  Above  all, 
the  expression  of  her  sunny  eyes,  and  the  unaffected 
grace  which  distinguished  every  movement,  completed 
the  charm  of  her  appearance. 

Almeria  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  reflected  image 
by  the  side  of  this  angelic  looking  creature,  and  she 
felt  at  that  moment  as  if  she  could  have  torn  away 
the  massive  ornaments  that  loaded  her  brow,  her 
neck  and  arms,  and  thrown  them  from  her  in  disgust. 
But  such  an  exhibition  of  mortified  vanity  would 
have  been  worse  than  ridiculous,  and  she  was  com- 


"  GOLD  !    GOLD  !    GOLD  !  "  163 

pelled  to  "  smile  and  smile,"  with  the  viper  of  jealousy 
gnawing  at  her  heart. 

This  feeling  was  not  diminished  when  Reginald 
was  announced  with  Mr.  Melville's  party.  It  was  not 
the  first  tune  Almeria  had  seen  him,  and  whenever  she 
had  met  with  him  in  society,  it  happened  that  some 
criticism  or  sarcasm  in  which  she  indulged,  met  with 
a  brilliant  rejoinder  and  repartee  from  him,  and  this, 
while  it  piqued,  had  interested  her. 

She  had  a  long  list  of  admirers,  and  her  vanity 
might  have  been  content  with  the  number,  and,  in 
some  instances,  the  names  of  those  who  wore  her 
chains  ;  but  she  had  wit  enough  to  perceive  that  the 
chains  would  not  have  been  borne  so  willingly  if  they 
had  not  been  made  of  gold,  and  she  secretly  sighed 
for  something  that  gold  could  not  buy,  the  sympathy 
of  a  heart  more  true  and  noble  than  those  daily  laid 
at  her  feet,  which  she  declared  her  vision  was  not 
microscopic  enough  to  see. 

There  was  no  hope  of  weaving  the  golden  net 
around  Reginald,  for  fortune  had  favored  him  too  far 
for  her  to  build  her  hopes  on  this  glittering  but  false 
foundation.  Yet  she  hoped, — for  every  vain  woman 
can  find  some  ground  for  hope,  if  she  permits  her 
fancy  to  dwell  continually  upon  a  handsome  young 
man.  But  this  fatal  evening  seemed  to  come  as  a 
blighting  frost  upon  these  hopes,  and  she  looked  upon 
the  white-robed  Constance  as  she  would  have  done 
upon  a  snow  wreath  falling  upon  her  budding  flowers, 
chilling  and  perhaps  extinguishing  their  early  life. 

But  no  such  flowers  had  ever  budded  in  the  true 


164  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

and  noble  heart  she  would  have  given  all  her  jewels 
to  captivate,  and  that  "  pearl  of  price,"  for  which  she 
would  willingly  have  exchanged  all  her  own,  was  in 
better  keeping  than  hers.  Almeria  Belmont  was  the 
last  person  hi  the  world  to  please  a  taste  as  pure,  and 
almost  fastidious,  as  that  of  Reginald  Villiers,  and  he 
had  always  so  sedulously  avoided  her,  and  the  atten- 
tions she  found  means  to  place  in  his  way,  that  she 
might  have  suspected,  though  her  vanity  as  well  as 
his  politeness  blinded  her  to  the  sober  truth,  which 
was — that  he  detested  her. 

Madame  de  St.  Clair  made  room  for  the  newly 
arrived  guests  upon  the  luxurious  divan ;  and  polite- 
ness demanded  the  particular  attention  of  Almeria  to 
her  lovely  rival,  as  she  regarded  Constance.  Her 
jealousy  was  farther  stimulated  by  the  discovery  that 
the  gentle  young  girl  had  a  wit  as  keen  as  her  own, 
though  chastised  by  modesty  and  kindness  of  heart, 
and  that  the  shafts  of  her  ridicule  or  malice  would 
fall  as  harmlessly  by  her,  as  if  they  had  been  aimed  at 
an  adamantine  shield. 

With  her  skill  as  a  practised  actress,  she  changed 
her  tone  of  masculine  levity,  and  assumed  all  the 
feminine  grace  of  a  young  novice  in  the  world.  Con- 
stance, was  partially,  but  not  entirely,  deceived, — she 
had  never  seen  Almeria  before.  Reginald  looked 
with  surprise  at  the  metamorphosis,  but  it  only  steeled 
his  heart  more  completely  to  any  influence  she  might 
have  hoped  to  exercise  upon  him. 

The  half  hour  allotted  for  the  visit  soon  passed 
away,  and  Mrs.  Melville  rose  to  depart. 

"  We   shall  meet   at    the    Spanish   ambassador's 


"GOLD!  GOLD!  GOLD!"  165 

ball  next  Sunday,  I  hope,"  said  Madame  de  St. 
Clair. 

"  No,  I  have  declined  the  invitation,"  replied  Mrs. 
Melville. 

"Declined  the  invitation!"  exclaimed  Madame 
de  St.  Clair  with  surprise,  "  why  it  will  be  the  bouquet 
of  the  whole  season,  the  most  brilliant  entertainment 
ever  seen  hi  this  brilliant  metropolis.  What  can  be 
the  cause  of  your  disappointment  ?  " 

"  A  very  simple  one,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  I  do 
not  go  to  balls  on  Sunday." 

Madame  de  St.  Clair  shrugged  her  shoulders.  She 
was  evidently  curious  to  know  whether  the  real  cause 
had  been  assigned  for  this  strange  determination. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  forgetting  in  her  curiosity 
the  impertinence  of  the  suggestion,  "  your  invitations 
may  have  been  mislaid.  I  think  it  may  be  best  to 
inquire." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Melville  smiling.  "  I 
have  not  only  received  my  invitations,  but  the  Com- 
tesse  d'Ofalia  has  honored  me  with  some  blank  ones 
for  my  friends,  so  that  I  shall  be  compelled,  if  I  am 
catechized  about  it,  honestly  to  confess  the  truth." 

Almeria  looked  after  Mrs.  Melville  as  she  retired. 

"  How  very  absurd !  "  exclaimed  Madame  de  St. 
Clair. 

"Absurd? — yes, — no," — replied  Almeria,  absent- 
ly, "  except  that  honesty  and  truth  are  always  absurd 
in  what  we  call  society.  But  I  wish  we  had  more  of 
them.  I  am  sick  of  compliments — of  deceit — of  the 
world — of  myself— of  every  thing  !  " 

"  Why,  how  pettish  you  are  this  evening,  ch6rie  ; 


* 

166  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

you  are  quite  a  different  being  from  what  you  were 
half  an  hour  ago." 

There  was  an  insinuation  in  this  remark  on  the 
part  of  her  friend  that  displeased  Almeria.  She  rose 
and  made  politeness  a  pretext  for  following  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville to  the  last  room  in  the  suite.  The  carriages  had 
been  announced,  and  Reginald  was  about  to  take  his 
departure  also.  Almeria  affected  to  misunderstand 
his  intention. 

"  Mr.  Villiers,"  she  said  with  gentle  hesitation, 
"  Madame  de  St.  Clair  has  requested  me  to  ask  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  a  moment,  as  she  informs 
me  she  has  satisfactory  information  about  the  picture 
in  which  you  expressed  so  much  interest.  You  will 
then,  I  hope,  pardon  the  liberty  of  hostess  I  assume 
in  asking  you  to  attend  her  to  supper."  And  with  a 
thousand  pretty  regrets  and  adieus  to  Mrs.  Melville 
and  Constance,  she  glided  back  among  her  guests  and 
to  the  divan. 

Reginald  was  half  tempted  to  disobey  the  mandate, 
but  such  a  step  would  have  been  an  offence  against  all 
the  rules  of  civilized  society,  and  after  proffering  the 
useless  services  of  a  cavalier  to  ladies  completely  at- 
tended, and  exchanging  a  courteous  "  good  night,"  he 
was  compelled  to  return  to  the  salon,  where  he  found 
Madame  de  St.  Clair  and  Almeria  together. 

"  We  were  discussing  the  merits  of  the  party  with 
whom  you  came,"  said  Madame  de  St.  Clair  to  Regi- 
nald, as  he  approached  her,  "  and  I  should  like  to  hear 
your  opinion." 

"  They  have  then,  as  Sir  Peter  Teazle  would  say, 
left  their  characters  behind  them,  I  presume,"  said 


"  GOLD  !    GOLD  !    GOLD  !  "  167 

Reginald,  "  for  I  think  I  have  formerly  heard  some 
animated  discussions  on  similar  subjects,  in  the  so- 
ciety in  which  I  have  the  honor  to  find  myself  at 
present." 

"  Oh  shocking  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  de  St.  Clair. 
"  Why,  you  and  Almeria  are  perfectly  savage  to- 
night." 

Almeria  rose  and  made  a  courtesy  of  acknowledg- 
ment. Reginald  bowed.  "  We  are  very  grateful 
for  the  compliment,'.'  she  said,  "but  Mr.  Yilliers  has 
not  yet  answered  your  question." 

"  I  have  sojourned  too  long  in  this  metropolis," 
said  Reginald  smiling,  "  not  to  know  that  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  tell  one  lady  what  I  think  of  another.  If 
you  include  Mr.  Melville  in  your  catechism,  I  will  give 
you  a  quaint  answer  made  long  ago,  but  a  worthier 
one  than  any  I  can  devise — I  should  say,  '  that  he  is 
a  gentleman  steady  in  his  principles,  of  nice  honor, 
with  abundance  of  learning :  brave  as  the  sword  he 
wears,  and  bold  as  a  lion :  a  sure  friend,  and  a  man 
who  would  lose  his  life  readily  to  serve  his  country, 
and  would  not  do  a  base  thing  to  save  it.'  " 

He  spoke  with  enthusiasm,  and  Almeria  sighed. 
Reginald  had  given  an  unconscious  sketch  of  his  own 
feelings  and  character.  How  different  from  the  im- 
perceptible hearts  she  daily  rejected,  was  this  noble 
one! 

"  This  sounds  finely,"  said  Madame  de  St.  Clair, 
"  but  the  merit  would  depend  on  the  country  that  one 
is  to  serve  or  save.  If  it  is  the  odious  one  that  Chris- 
topher Columbus  found  out,  I  think  it  neither  worth 
serving  nor  saving,  and  it  would  have  been  much 


168  HOME  AND  THE   WORLD. 

wiser  in  Queen  Isabella  to  have  reserved  her  patron- 
age for  a  better  purpose  than  encouraging  such  a  dis- 
covery. But  here  is  the  Comte  de  B .  He  will 

give  us  an  impartial  opinion  on  the  merits  of  Miss  Mel- 
ville." And  she  laid  her  white-gloved  hand  tenderly 
on  his  arm. 

The  count  took  the  hand  and  pressed  it,  but 
seemed  rather  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  it  afterwards, 
for  he  was  a  man  more  of  letters  than  society.  He 
had  recently  made  the  acquisition  of  English,  to  aid 
him  in  his  literary  researches,  and  his  manner  of 
speaking  the  language,  while  studiously  correct,  was 
so  precise  and  pedantic  that  it  was  ludicrous  in  the 
extreme.  Almeria,  who  never  lost  an  opportunity 
of  ridicule  and  sarcasm,  especially  when  a  dear 
friend  could  be  made  the  object,  was  evidently  grati- 
fied that  the  count  should  address  all  his  remarks  to 
Madame  de  St.  Clair  in  her  despised  vernacular,  in- 
stead of  his  graceful  French. 

"  I  am  hardly  prepar-ec?  to  express  an  opinion,"  he 
replied,  "  but  as  the  young  lady  pass-eel  us,  she  appear- 
ed to  me  very  distinguish-^.  Yet  I  have  not  avail-ec? 
myself  of  the  opportunity  allow-ec?  me,  to  form  a 
decid-ec?  judgment." 

"The  reason  you  have  assign-e^,  Monsieur  le 
Comte,"  said  Almeria,  casting  down  her  eyes  with 
an  air  of  timid  hesitation  and  modesty,  "  is  one  we 
should  have  consider-ec?  conclusive.  We  should  have 
been  compell-ec?  to  renounce  the  opinions  we  had 
form-ec?  on  the  subject,  if  yours  had  differ-ec?  from  our 
own." 

Reginald  was  astonished  that  the  cool  imperti- 


"  GOLD  !    GOLD  !    GOLD  !  "  169 

nence  of  this  mockery  should  not  have  been  detected, 
but  happily  for  Almeria  the  count  did  nbt  perceive 
it,  and  passed  on  with  an  amiable  bow  and  smile. 

"  Almeria  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  red- 
dening with  anger,  "  this  passes  all  limits.  The  Comte 
de  B is  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  and  it  is  in- 
tolerable to  see  him  ridiculed  to  his  face  !  " 

"And  it  is  precisely  because  you  have  ascrib-ec? 
that  title  to  him,"  returned  Almeria,  laughing,  "  that 
I  amus-ec?  myself,  and  fear-ec?  not,  but  push-ed  my  re- 
mark to  the  verge  of  impertinence,  that  his  friend 
might  be  amaz-ec?,  vex-ec?,  annoy-et?  and  enrag-ec?  at 
the  wit  I  reveal-ec7." 

Madame  de  St.  Clair  was  too  angry  to  remonstrate. 
She  rose  and  walked  to  the  supper-room.  Almeria 
followed  her,  still  laughing. 

"  I  have  vow-ed  that  I  will  not  be  quarrel-ec?  with," 
she  said,  "  and  as  I  have  perceiv-e<#  that  you  are  dis- 
tress-ec?,  the  subject  shall  be  dropp-ed  and  dismiss-ec?. 
You  shall  be  cajol-et7,  caress-ec?,  kiss-e<7,  and  charm-ec?, 
until  the  evil  spirit  in  me  is  exorcis-ec7,  and  the  count 
aveng-ec?." 

Reginald  found  himself  compelled  to  escort  Mad- 
ame de  St.  Clair  to  the  supper-room ;  but  once  ar- 
rived there,  he  found  an  acquaintance  to  whom  he 
delegated  his  office,  and  to  the  great  disappointment 
of  Almeria,  when  her  friend  returned  to  the  salon, 
she  was  accompanied  by  another  escort.  The  cavalier 
she  had  hoped  to  delay  by  her  ingenious  expedient 
had  passed  quietly  through  a  side-door  in  the  supper- 
room,  and  made  his  escape. 
8 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    PASTOR    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

THE  few  last  chapters  having  been  exclusively  oc- 
cupied with  the  gay  and  brilliant  scenes  of  society,  it 
may  have  been  imagined  that  Mr.  Melville  and  his 
family  had  followed  the  example  often  set  by  the 
strangers  who  flock  to  this  seductive  metropolis,  and 
that  they  had  left  all  serious  thoughts  behind  them,  to 
be  resumed  at  "a  more  convenient  season."  This 
would  be  doing  them  great  injustice ;  for  while  they 
accepted  the  elegant  hospitalities  amiably  and  gra- 
ciously extended  to  them,  and  while  they  availed 
themselves  of  every  suitable  occasion  to  gratify  a 
rational  curiosity  in  seeing  all  that  would  liberalize 
the  mind  or  cultivate  the  taste,  they  found  such  a 
course  not  inconsistent  with  holier  and  more  impor- 
tant duties. 

One  of  their  first  inquiries  on  their  arrival  in  the 
capital  was  for  a  place  of  worship,  and  three  were  in- 
dicated. All  honor  be  ascribed  to  the  piety  of  that 
nation  which  has  established  these  chapels  throughout 
the  continent  of  Europe  !  Amid  the  gorgeous  cathe- 
drals of  cities,  in  remote  districts,  in  the  region  of  the 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  171 

snow-clad  Alps,  these  temples  rise,  inviting  the  sym- 
pathizing stranger  to  their  courts,  and  offering  wells 
of  "  living  water  "  to  quench  the  thirst  of  the  wearied 
pilgrim  hi  life's  wilderness,  like  the  "  streams  in  the 
desert." 

At  this  epoch,  one  of  these  chapels  was  to  be 
found  in  the  midst  of  a  large  garden  in  the  Champs 
Elys6es.  It  had  once  been  dedicated  to  a  less  holy 
purpose,  for  the  garden  had  been  a  resort  of  pleasure, 
and  the  chapel  a  public  ball-room.  But  pious  hands 
had  wrought  a  change  there  which  is  sometimes  seen 
in  the  human  heart,  and  all  that  was  beautiful  was 
dedicated  to  holy  purposes,  renewed  and  changed, 
but  not  destroyed.  The  garden  had  been  carefully 
preserved,  and  gave  an  air  of  seclusion  to  the  spot, 
that  was  doubly  grateful  in  escaping  from  the  noisy 
gambols  of  the  throngs  who  make  the  day  designed 
to  be  one  of  holy  rest,  a  day  of  ceaseless  and  tumult- 
uous excitement,  which  they  miscall  pleasure. 

It  was  a  strange  transition  in  turning  from  the 
avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  where  thousands  of 
people  were  driving  or  walking,  where  itinerant  con- 
fectioners and  mountebanks  were  blocking  up  the 
passage  of  brilliant  equipages  or  gay  young  horsemen, 
where  mimic  ships  were  sailing  on  imaginary  waves 
in  the  air,  or  regiments  of  soldiers,  preceded  by  mili- 
tary bands,  were  marching  in  long  array,  to  take 
refuge  in  this  peaceful  spot,  and  shut  the  door  upon 
the  rushing  torrent  of  life  without. 

In  this  quiet  sanctuary  Mr.  Melville  and  his  family 
found  a  resting-place  and  a  home  for  the  devotional 
hours  of  each  Sunday,  and  the  pleasing  aspect  of  the 


172  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

young  pastor,  Mr.  Montague,  gave  them  promise  of 
an  interesting  addition  to  their  society.  Their  con- 
stant attendance  at  his  chapel  awakened  the  wish,  on 
his  side,  of  forming  their  acquaintance,  and  he  called 
with  Mrs.  Montague  to  pay  his  respects. 

Mr.  Melville's  family  were  absent  on  the  morning 
of  their  visit,  but  the  call  was  promptly  returned. 
On  inquiring  for  Mrs.  Montague,  Mrs.  Melville  was 
informed  that  Mrs.  Montague  was  indisposed.  The 
next  day,  and  the  next,  inquiries  were  made.  "  She 
was  ill — very  ill,  was  the  reply.  Sunday  came,  and 
the  pastor  was  replaced  by  another.  The  mournful 
countenances  of  his  sympathizing  flock  revealed  the 
sad  truth.  He  had  just  received  the  last  breath  of 
his  sainted  partner — she  was  dead ! 

The  second  Sunday  after  this  melancholy  event, 
the  young  pastor  was  again  in  his  accustomed  place, 
though  his  pale  cheek  and  dimmed  eye  showed  but 
too  plainly  the  sufferings  he  had  undergone  in  that 
terrible  interval.  He  looked  composed  and  resigned ; 
but  during  his  discourse  the  fortitude  of  the  Christian 
yielded  for  a  moment  to  the  weakness  of  nature  ;  and 
when  a  lovely  infant  bearing  his  own  features  in  min- 
iature was  brought  to  the  font  to  be  baptized,  the 
sympathy  of  the  whole  assembly  manifested  itself  in 
tears  and  even  sobs. 

With  an  effort  almost  convulsive,  he  recovered  his 
firmness  and  voice,  and  as  with  a  flushed  cheek  and 
tearful  eye  he  pronounced  the  words  "  Blessed  are  the 
dead  that  die  in  the  Lord ! "  his  hearers  felt  that  it 
would  be  almost  sinful  to  regret  the  early  departure 
of  this  young  saint,  who  had  thus  been  enabled  to 


THE   PASTOR   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  173 

fortify  her  dearest  earthly  friend,  and  lead  him  to 
submit  without  a  murmur  to  the  heaviest  of  afflictions, 
in  assuring  him  that  she  was  only  "  going  to  prepare 
a  place  for  him." 

Thus  vanished  the  hope  Mr.  Melville  and  his 
family  had  entertained  of  forming  a  friendship  that 
might  have  grown  to  intimacy;  for  after  a  few 
months'  trial,  the  position,  with  its  associations,  be- 
came too  painful  to  be  endured,  and  Mr.  Montague, 
finding  that  his  health  was  failing,  resigned  his  charge 
to  another,  and  left  the  metropolis. 

The  events  recorded  in  these  three  pages  had 
occupied  three  months,  for  that  space  of  time  had 
elapsed  since  Mr.  Melville  and  his  family  first  sought 
out  Mr.  Montague's  chapel,  and  formed  his  acquaint- 
ance. His  farewell  visit  had  just  been  paid,  and  a 
fervent  English  "  God  bless  you ! "  exchanged.  Mrs. 
Melville  and  Constance,  saddened  by  the  recollection 
of  his  sorrows,  as  well  as  their  own  deprivation  in 
the  loss  of  his  society,  were  sitting  together  in  the 
room  which  was  habitually,  at  that  hour,  dedicated  to 
the  instructions  of  Madame  Laval. 

Madame  Laval,  always  punctual  to  the  moment, 
came  at  her  appointed  tune ;  but  a  single  glance  at 
her  usually  bright  face  told  that,  instead  of  bringing 
with  her  cheerfulness  and  consolation,  she  was  even 
sadder  than  themselves,  and  that  something  had 
evidently  occurred  to  agitate  and  grieve  her.  The 
recitations  of  her  pupils  were  completed ;  and  until 
this  morning,  a  gay  and  animated  conversation  had 
always  succeeded  these  exercises,  forming  the  most 
agreeable  as  well  as  instructive  part  of  her  lessons. 


174  HOME  AND  THE   WOULD. 

She  tried  evidently  to  rally  her  spirits  for  the  effort, 
but  in  vain.  At  length  the  exertion  on  her  part  be- 
came manifestly  so  painful,  that  Constance  felt  im- 
pelled to  relieve  her  from  it. 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  so  well  as  usual  this  morning, 
ch6re  madame,"  she  said  rather  timidly,  for  she  was 
apprehensive  that  there  might  be  some  cause  for  the 
agitation  she  perceived,  which  Madame  Laval  would 
be  unwilling  to  reveal,  and  that  her  allusion  to  it 
might  be  indiscreet. 

Madame  Laval  made  a  faint  effort  to  smile  ;  the 
exertion  was  too  much,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

Constance  was  shocked:  she  rose,  and  taking 
Madame  Laval's  hand  in  both  hers,  with  a  look  of 
affectionate  sympathy,  asked  her  pardon  for  the  indis- 
cretion which  had  apparently  awakened  a  sorrow  she 
wished  to  remain  unrevealed.  Little  Alice  nestled  to 
her  side,  and  looked  wistfully  in  her  face,  with  her 
blue  eyes  filled  with  sympathetic  tears.  Madame 
Laval  with  a  strong  effort  recovered  her  composure. 
She  kissed  the  pearly  drops  away  from  the  blue  eyes, 
and  returned  the  kind  pressure  of  the  hands  that 
caressed  hers. 

"  I  am  almost  ashamed,"  she  said,  "  to  show  such 
weakness,  but  the  tears  I  could  not  repress  were  not 
shed  for  any  grief  of  my  own.  I  have  just  witnessed 
a  scene  so  heart-rending,  that  I  should  be  almost 
afraid  to  portray  it  to  imaginations  so  lively,  and  hearts 
so  tender  as  yours.  Yet  it  may  be  the  will  of  heaven 
to  alleviate  the  sufferings  I  have  just  seen,  by  describ- 
ing them  to  you." 

"I  should  deeply  regret,  madame,"   said  Mrs. 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  175 

Melville,  "that  my  daughters  should  be  deterred 
from  listening  to  a  tale  of  distress,  because  their  sensi- 
bilities might  be  wounded  by  it.  I  think  you  may 
trust  Constance,  for  there  would  be  little  good  done 
in  the  world,  if  we  were  not  in  early  life  to  have  our 
sympathies  awakened,  however  painfully.  This  ex- 
treme of  sensibility  is  too  often  a  plausible  pretext 
for  shrinking  from  an  imperative  duty." 

Thus  encouraged,  and  perceiving  that  Constance 
was  deeply  interested  in  the  communication  she  felt 
disposed  to  make,  Madame  Laval  replied,  "  I  know 
not  indeed  if  it  is  not  an  imperative  duty  to  mention 
the  circumstances  that  affected  me  so  powerfully ; 
but  to  justify  myself  entirely,  I  should  be  compelled 
to  give  a  brief  history  of  the  persons  to  whom  these 
circumstances  relate." 

"  We  shall  listen  with  all  our  hearts  as  well  as  our 
ears,"  said  Constance,  "  if  you  will  oblige  us  by  the 
recital,  madame.  I  think  you  owe  me  some  repara- 
tion for  supposing  me  too  sensitive." 

"  My  story  is  very  simple  as  well  as  very  sad," 
said  Madame  Laval,  "  and  there  are  probably  many 
sufferers  in  this  great  city,  at  the  present  inclement  sea- 
son, who  might  tell  one  of  almost  equal  misery.  But 
it  happens  that  I  have  for  some  years  known  the 
persons  to  whom  mine  relates,  and  this  is  one  reason 
that  I  was  so  much  overcome  by  unexpectedly  finding 
them  in  the  most  deplorable  state  of  poverty  and 
wretchedness." 

"  As  long  as  six  years  ago,  I  knew  a  pretty  modest 
girl,  Sophie  by  name,. who  became  suddenly  an  or- 
phan, and  was  left  destitute  of  all  except  the  excellent 


176  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

principles  she  had  received  from  her  worthy  parents. 
She  gratefully  accepted  the  offer  made  her  to  ac- 
company a  lady  of  our  acquaintance  to  her  chateau 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Geneva.  During  the  sojourn 
of  the  family  with  whom  she  was  living  at  this  place, 
Sophie  became  acquainted  with  a  young  gardener  who 
assisted  in  cultivating  and  embellishing  the  extensive 
grounds  of  the  chateau.  The  friendship  formed  be- 
tween them  soon  ripened  into  a  stronger  feeling,  the 
acquaintance  became  a  suitor,  and  Antoine,  the  young 
gardener,  was  in  due  time  the  proud  and  happy  hus- 
band of  the  pretty  Sophie. 

"  Their  marriage  was  apparently  sanctioned  by 
the  wealthy  proprietors,  but  from  some  cause  which 
has  never  been  explained,  Sophie  was  soon  dismissed, 
and  Antoine,  without  receiving  any  excuse  or  indem- 
nity for  the  caprice,  was  advised  by  Mr.  Belmont,  the 
proprietor  of  the  chateau,  to  quit  his  service  at  Ge- 
neva, and  to  seek  his  fortune  in  Paris.  The  know- 
ledge and  experience  Antoine  had  acquired  in  his 
beautiful  art,  enabled  him  for  some  time  to  succeed 
tolerably  well.  Sophie  conducted  herself  with  ex- 
emplary propriety,  and  became  the  mother  of  four 
children,  the  second-born  twins. 

Their  cares  thus  increased,  it  became  difficult  to 
maintain  themselves,  but  they  struggled  bravely  on 
until  the  beginning  of  this  terrible  season,  when  poor 
Sophie  became  the  mother  of  her  fourth  child,  and 
her  husband  fell  ill  of  a  rheumatic  fever,  in  consequence 
of  attempting  work  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed. 
Despairing  of  his  regular  vocation  from  the  continued 
falls  of  snow,  »while  the  gardens  he  had  been  accus- 


THE  PASTOR  AND   HIS  FAMILY.  177 

tomed  to  tend  were  buried,  and  his  patrons  lent  an 
unwilling  ear  to  his  tale  of  distress,  he  sought  occu- 
pation in  joining  the  thousands  of  poor,  who  for  a 
miserable  pittance  were  daily  employed  in  clearing 
the  streets  of  snow.  This  was  the  cause  of  the  severe 
illness  which  exhausted  all  his  little  earnings,  as  well 
as  those  of  his  young  wife. 

"  Their  scanty  stock  of  furniture  was  sold  piece 
by  piece,  their  wardrobe  went  next,  and  on  inquiring 
for  them  this  morning,  I  found  they  had  been  turned 
from  the  humble  though  decent  lodging  in  which  I 
had  last  seen  them.  I  traced  them  from  place  to 
place,  and  at  last  found  them.  Oh  what  a  scene  of 
destitution  and  misery  met  my  sight !  Sophie  and  her 
four  little  ones  were  huddled  together  in  a  small  dark 
cellar  room,  the  walls  actually  streaming  with  mois- 
ture. Her  eldest  girl,  a  child  of  five  years  old,  was 
holding  the  baby  on  her  lap,  and  with  precocious  skill 
and  tenderness,  endeavoring  to  lull  its  feeble  cries. 
The  other  little  ones — how  proud  the  mother  had 
been  of  her  twin  boys  ! — were  spreading  their  chilled 
hands  over  the  blackened  ashes  of  what  had  once 
been  a  fire  hi  the  desolate  hearth. 

"  Poor  Sophie  was  lying  on  a  heap  of  straw,  cover- 
ed with  an  old  blanket.  She  looked  deadly  pale,  and 
neither  spoke  nor  moved,  until  I  appoached  her  and 
took  her  hand.  She  looked  up  wistfully,  and  closed 
her  eyes  again.  The  story  that  glance  told  was  dread- 
ful,— she  was  perishing  with  want ! 

"  At  that  moment  Antoine  entered.  I  hardly  took 
tune  then  to  remark  what  I  have  since  often  thought 
of,  his  haggard  wild  expression,  but  putting  money 
8* 


178  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

into  his  hand,  bade  him  hasten  with  all  speed  to  the 
nearest  magazine  for  wood  to  make  the  fire,  telling 
him  that  I  would  return  instantly  with  food.  I  flew 
to  the  nearest  baker  and  provided  myself  with  bread, 
next  with  a  bottle  of  good  wine,  and  the  butcher  with 
whom  I  deal,  happily  lived  in  that  neighborhood. 
The  good  man  was  busily  occupied  in  decking  his  fat 
sirloins  with  artificial  flowers  for  the  approaching 
carnival,  but  he  gave  a  ready  ear  to  my  sad  tale,  and 
supplied  me  with  some  of  his  finest  chops,  as  well  as 
a  good  piece  of  the  carnival  beef,  lent  me  a  large 
basket  in  which  to  bestow  my  treasures,  and  granted 
me,  moreover,  the  services  of  his  boy  to  carry  it  for 
me.  To  these  I  added  another  bottle  containing  milk 
for  the  famishing  babe,  and  returned  with  all  the  haste 
that  a  nervous  tremor  permitted. 

"  Happily  a  marmite  and  a  gridiron  had  been  saved 
from  the  wreck  of  all  their  household  and  kitchen 
furniture.  I  found  that  Antoine  had  been  faithful  to 
my  instructions,  and  on  my  return  a  fire  was  blazing  in 
the  hearth,  so  that  our  united  exertions  soon  prepared 
a  comfortable  meal.  I  cannot  describe  the  sensations 
of  happiness  and  gratitude  I  felt  when  I  saw  these 
poor  creatures  gradually  reviving  under  the  influences 
of  warmth  and  wholesome  food.  They  submitted 
more  readily  to  my  advice  than  I  could  have  imagined 
possible,  in  partaking  sparingly  at  first  of  the  food 
I  had  brought  them,  but  I  took  the  precaution  of 
plunging  my  large  piece  of  beef  into  the  marmite 
and  filling  it  with  water,  lest  they  should  be  too  much 
tempted  to  devour  it,  before  the  nourishing  soup  could 
be  made,  on  which  I  depended  for  their  next  meal. 


THE   PASTOR   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  179 

"  Thus  I  relieved  them  for  the  moment,  but  they 
are  still  in  that  wretched  cellar,  and  grim  famine, 
though  banished  for  the  present,  is  still  prowling 
around  their  door.  My  slender  means  did  not  admit 
of  more  than  temporary  relief  for  them,  and  I  re- 
volved in  my  mind  all  the  plans  I  could  devise  for 
their  assistance." 

"  I  should  not  suppose  that  it  would  have  required 
a  moment's  reflection,"  said  Constance.  "  Mr.  Bel- 
mont,  with  his  princely  wealth,  will  be  only  too  happy 
to  relieve  poor  Antoine  and  his  family,  especially  as 
they  were  once  in  his  service." 

"The  idea  is  a  natural  one,"  replied  Madame 
Laval,  "and  as  such  I  acted  on  it  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  As  soon  as  I  saw  the  sufferers 
restored  to  some  degree  of  comfort,  I  went  directly 
to  Mr.  Belmont's  hotel,  and  happily  found  entrance. 
Miss  Belmont  was  just  stepping  into  her  chariot,  and 
seemed  very  impatient  of  detention,  but  I  insisted  on 
giving  her  the  particulars  I  have  detailed  to  you, 
though  as  briefly  as  possible." 

"  '  Indeed,  Madame  Laval,'  she  replied  pettishly, 
wheri  I  had  concluded,  'it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
wait  and  listen  to  all  these  sorts  of  things.  I  have  an 
appointment  with  Victorine  this  morning  to  try  some 
dresses  for  the  Princess  V »s  fancy  ball,  and  I  can- 
not be  detained  longer.' 

"  I  answered  that  I  had  no  wish  to  detain  her,  but 
that  I  hoped  she  would  provide  me  with  the  means 
of  relieving  so  much  wretchedness  out  of  her  super- 
abundant wealth ;  and  I  added  that  if  this  unfortunate 
family  could  only  receive  sufficient  assistance  to  get 


180  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

through  the  winter,  they  could  then  earn  a  livelihood. 
I  said  that  I  would  call  and  see  her  when  she  returned 
from  her  morning  engagement." 

"  '  Oh  pray  don't ! '  exclaimed  Miss  Belmont  hasti- 
ly, i  I  shall  be  out  all  the  morning,  and  there  will 
hardly  be  time  to  dress  for  a  dinner  party  we  have  to- 
day. Papa  is  at  home,  ask  him  about  it.'  And  wav- 
ing her  hand  impatiently  to  the  footman  who  stood 
awaiting  her  orders,  she  was  whirled  off  in  an  instant. 

"  With  a  heavy  heart  I  ascended  the  great  mar- 
ble stairway,  for  I  had  a  presentiment  of  failure,  after 
this  first  experiment.  Mr.  Belmont  was  within,  as 
his  daughter  had  said,  but  made  an  evident  effort  to 
escape  as  I  entered  the  room  where  he  was  standing. 
He  closed  his  lips  more  firmly,  and  knitted  his  brows, 
as  I  repeated  my  story  to  him. 

"'Antoine  has  no  business  here,' he  said.  4He 
should  have  remained  in  his  own  country.' 

"  I  did  not  venture  to  hint  the  truth,  which  was 
that  the  poor  fellow  had  been  influenced  by  Mr.  Bel- 
mont's  advice  in  coming  to  Paris,  and  only  pleaded 
that  even  if  the  charge  of  imprudence  was  just,  he 
and  his  family  were  perishing  with  misery  and  ^ant. 

" '  The  government  must  take  care  of  its  pau- 
pers,' was  the  cold  reply.  'It  is  not  my  affair.  If 
I  had  listened  to  all  such  tales,  I  should  be  a  pauper 
myself.  Besides,  I  do  not  like  these  fine  lady  ways 
of  raising  money  for  the  poor.  When  I  give  any 
thing,  it  must  pass  through  the  hands  of  responsible 
men.' 

"  The  insinuation,"  continued  Madame  Laval,  "was 
so  broadly  insulting,  that  it  left  me  no  alternative, 


THE  PASTOR  AND   HIS   FAMILY.  181 

and  I  indignantly  quitted  the  house.  The  cruelty 
of  this  hard  man,  and  the  painful  scene  I  had  just 
witnessed,  must  together  plead  my  excuse  for  the 
weakness  I  have  perhaps  too  plainly  manifested." 

"  Your  sensibility  and  indignation  do  you  honor, 
madame,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  and  I  assure  you 
we  sympathize  in  both ;  but  this  will  not  advance 
the  cause  you  have  so  nobly  espoused ;  we  must  see 
what  can  be  done.  I  imagine  I  have  rather  more 
reason  for  the  apprehension  of  Mr.  Belmont,  than 
he  has  with  his  millions,  especially  as  the  charity 
fund  I  laid  aside  in  the  beginning  of  this  terrible  sea- 
son has  long  ago  been  exhausted ;  but  we  must  make 
some  sacrifices  for  your  proteges.  Have  you  nothing 
to  propose,  my  daughter  ?  " 

Constance  had  been  in  a  deep  reverie  for  a  few 
minutes.  Her  mother  had  evidently  divined  her 
thoughts,  for  she  replied,  u  Yes,  I  have  something  to 
propose.  I  will  give  up  the  fancy  bah1  of  the  Princess 
V.,  and  devote  the  sum  that  my  dress  would  have 
cost,  to  this  poor  family." 

The  fancy  ball  of  the  Princess  V.  had  occupied  ah1 
the  brilliant  circles  of  the  metropolis  with  gossip  and 
anticipation,  for  a  month  past.  The  Carnival  was  at 
hand,  and  the  last  days  immediately  preceding  the  sol- 
emn season  of  Lent  were  characterized  by  a  more 
frenzied  gayety  than  usual.  While  the  common  class- 
es of  people  were  amusing  themselves  with  leading 
the  boeuf  gras,  garlanded  with  flowers,  through  the 
streets ;  while  maskers  and  mummers,  in  patches  and 
paint,  ribbons  and  streamers,  were  parading  in  open 
carriages  through  the  Boulevards,  or  assembling  at 


182  HOME    AND   THE    WOULD. 

the  tumultuous  and  riotous  masked  balls  of  the  opera ; 
the  more  fastidious,  but  not  less  self-indulgent,  ranks 
of  society  were  imbibing  their  draughts  of  fashionable 
pleasure  through  the  "  golden  tube  of  polite  refine- 
ment," and  luxuriating  in  such  scenes  as  the  splendid 
fancy  ball  promised  by  the  Princess  V. 

Constance  had  never  seen  a  fancy  ball,  and  her 
curiosity  was  naturally  excited.  Besides,  her  young 
friends  daily  expatiated  on  the  charms  of  her  intended 
costume.  How  lovely  she  would  look  in  the  bergere 
Pompadour  style,  half  marquise,  half  shepherdess ! — 
the  fantasie  so  successfully  revived  by  Marie  An- 
toinette. It  required  no  small  effort  to  renounce  such 
a  pleasure,  but  she  made  it  bravely. 

Mrs.  Melville  rose,  and  kissed  her  daughter's 
fair  brow. 

'•'  You  act  wisely  and  well,  my  child,"  she  said, 
"  and  your  resolution  gives  me  sincere  pleasure,  in 
more  ways  than  one.  I  wished  you  to  decide  this 
matter  for  yourself,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  you 
would  have  found  the  happiness  you  anticipated  far 
less  than  what  you  experience  at  this  instant  in  re- 
nouncing it." 

Madame  Laval  was  pouring  forth  her  acknowl- 
edgments of  this  kindness,  and  her  admiration  of  the 
noble  resolution  of  Constance,  when  it  happened  that, 
at  this  opportune  moment  for  strengthening  all  his 
prepossessions  and  increasing  his  admiration,  already 
too  great  for  his  peace  of  mind,  Mr.  Reginald  Yilliers 
was  announced,  and  entered  the  room.  His  visits 
had  now  become  almost  daily,  and  though  no  exact 
explanation  of  his  feelings  had  been  made,  every 


THE  PASTOK   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  183 

glance  of  his  expressive  eyes  had  revealed  his  yet 
untold  love.  He  was  happy  in  the  thought  that  he 
was  understood,  and  waited  until  time  should  more 
fully  confirm  the  sentiments  he  trusted  were  awa- 
kened hi  the  heart  of  the  loved  one,  before  he  made 
a  declaration  of  his  passion. 

It  needed  not  the  ready  tact  of  Madame  Laval  to 
interest  him  in  the  story  of  Antoine.  It  was  enough 
for  him  that  Constance  had  listened  to  it,  and  was 
ready  to  make  such  a  sacrifice  as  the  one  which  Ma- 
dame Laval  was  extolling. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  aside  to  Constance,  "  that 
I  shall  merit  little  praise  for  my  disinterested  generos- 
ity, if  I  dedicate  my  Marquis  costume  to  the  same  ob- 
ject, for,  since  you  decline  going,  I  have  not  the  least 
wish  to  see  the  PrincessV.'s  ball." 

He  took  from  a  rouleau  of  gold  twenty  louis-d'or, 
and,  presenting  them  to  Madame  Laval,  said  play- 
fully, "  If  the  embroidered  coat  and  point-lace  ruffles 
of  a  marquis  are  as  acceptable  to  a  lady,  as  the  dress 
bergere  Pompadour  of  a  marquise,  I  pray  you  to  appro- 
priate mine,  for  the  benefit  of  these  poor  sufferers." 

Madame  Laval  was  entreated,  on  all  sides,  not  to 
waste  a  moment  in  thanks,  but  to  hasten  as  quickly 
as  possible  on  her  errand  of  mercy.  With  the  aid 
of  her  active  exertions,  Antoine  and  his  family  were 
removed  that  very  day  from  their  miserable  cellar, 
and  transferred  to  a  small  but  decent  lodging,  in  a 
healthy  quarter.  Their  furniture  and  wardrobe,  which 
had  been  pawned,  were  quickly  redeemed,  and  they 
found  themselves  suddenly  raised  from  the  most  abject 
wretchedness  to  comparative  affluence.  The  sums 


184  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

economized  upon  the  two  fancy  ball  dresses,  thus  am- 
ply sufficed  for  the  humble  wants  of  these  poor  peo- 
ple until  the  return  of  spring,  when  they  had  reason 
to  hope  that  their  honest  labors  might  be  crowned 
with  success. 

The  day  following  these  events,  Antoine  begged 
permission  to  accompany  Madame  Laval  in  her  usual 
visit,  to  express  his  gratitude  to  his  young  benefac- 
tress. He  was  still  pale  and  haggard,  but  he  was 
cleanly  dressed,  and  had  evidently  taken  special  pains 
to  make  himself  presentable.  On  entering  the  room 
where  Constance  was  sitting  alone,  he  remained  mod- 
estly standing  near  the  door,  and  looked  earnestly  at 
her,  until  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  that  found  their 
channels  in  his  hollow  cheeks. 

"  You  have  been  the  good  angel  you  look  like, 
young  lady,"  he  said,  his  voice  choking  with  strong 
emotion.  "  You  have  saved  a  family  from  famine,  and 
an  immortal  soul  from  perdition!  May  that  God 
who  has  rescued  me,  through  your  goodness,  from 
misery  and  crime,  ever  watch  over  and  bless  you  ! " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A     MASQUERADE. 

"  THERE  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night."  Not 
the  joyous  and  light-hearted  mirth  that  invites  the 
young,  the  gay,  the  careless  to  its  jocund  merriment, 
but  that  frenzied  gayety  which  often  serves  as  a  cloak 
to  hide  the  scorpion  passions  stinging  the  breast  with- 
in, while  the  lips  smile  and  smile  again,  as  if  in  derision 
of  their  own  mockery. 

But  amid  the  mad  orgies  of  a  bal  masque  de  V opera, 
there  needed  no  such  smiles,  if  they  suited  not  the 
taste  and  temper  of  those  who  participated  in  the 
scene.  The  faces  were  concealed  by  those  varied  and 
unnatural  masks,  which  seemed  to  have  taxed  all  the 
ingenuity  of  their  contrivers  to  render  them  as  gro- 
tesque, as  strange,  as  wild  as  the  tumultuous  revel  in 
which  they  were  so  conspicuously  displayed. 

Turks,  Jews,  and  Arabs,  the  Chinese  and  Esqui- 
maux, Franciscan  monks  in  sackcloth,  Lady  Abbesses 
with  rosaries,  imps  and  angels,  women  in  sailors'  cos- 
tume, and  men  in  the  guise  of  women,  all  were 
mingled  together  in  the  fury  of  the  dansomania, 
which  was  fast  rising  to  its  greatest  height. 


186  HOME  AND  THE  WOKLD. 

Amid  this  innumerable  and  ever-increasing  throng, 
whose  uproarious  propensities  seemed  only  repressed 
by  their  awe  of  the  gens  d'armes  stationed  at  intervals 
throughout  the  scene  of  action,  and  who  were  invested 
with  authority  to  banish  such  of  this  goodly  assembly 
as  should  in  their  opinion  pass  the  prescribed  limits 
of  decorum,  were  seen  two  young  men,  simply  con- 
cealed from  the  gaze  of  the  multitude  by  the  ordinary 
disguise  of  a  black  domino. 

They  had  retired  a  little  from  the  crowd,  which 
they  were  surveying  through  their  opera  glasses, 
though  they  seemed  only  for  a  moment  at  a  time,  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  Apparently  their 
thoughts  and  conversation  were  engaged  on  graver 
topics. 

"  La  messe  et  la  chasse  !  Victor,"  said  one  of  these 
young  men  to  his  companion,  as  they  were  approached 
by  a  monk  of  La  Trappe  arm  in  arm  with  an  outlaw 
of  Sherwood  forest  dressed  in  Lincoln  green  with 
baldric  and  bugle.  "  La  messe  et  la  chasse  !  our 
worthy  sovereign  Charles  X.  should  certainly  be  here 
to  behold  these  superb  representatives  of  his  favorite 
occupations." 

"  I  must  beg  leave  to  differ  with  you  in  opinion, 
citizen,"  said  a  mask  standing  near,  and  availing  him- 
self of  the  license  permitted  on  these  occasions  to  join 
in  the  conversation.  "  I  must  beg  leave  to  differ  with 
you  as  to  the  propriety  and  expediency  of  introducing 
majesty  among  us  at  a  moment  when  pleasure  should 
reign  supreme.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  too  happy 
for  once  to  be  relieved  from  the  presence  of  royalty." 

"  Apropos  of  royalty,"  interposed  another  member 


A   MASQUERADE.  187 

of  this  select  company,  who  had  imagined  the  quaint 
device  of  investing  his  person  in  a  huge  balloon  of 
striped  green  silk,  emulating  a  gigantic  melon,  while 
his  red  vest  appearing  through  an  opening  in  front 
was  garnished  with  shining  black  buttons  resembling 
the  seeds  of  the  ripe  fruit ;  "  a  propos  of  royalty, 
have  either  of  you  attended  the  exposition  of  manu- 
factures that  took  place  this  morning  ?  Par  bleu  ! 
I  wonder  that  a  cook  had  the  spirit  to  run  himself 
through  with  a  sword  instead  of  his  spit,  without  the 
provocation  of  insult  or  injury,  and  only  because  he 
could  not  serve  majesty  with  fish,  in  the  days  of  the 
grand  monarque,  and  that  I,  Jean  Ferron,  should 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  survive  the  insult  I  re- 
ceived from  this  same  royalty  some  hours  ago." 

"  What  was  it,  Mignon  ?  "  inquired  a  jaunty  sailor 
lad,  whose  brown  curls  floating  beneath  the  tarpaulin 
hat,  betrayed  the  coquettish  wearer  of  this  most 
modest  and  delicately  selected  costume.  "What 
was  it,  Jean  ?  Come,  enlighten  and  enliven  the  com- 
pany with  a  history  of  your  adventures  ;  for  you  have 
been  as  stupid  as  a  melon  ever  since  you  have  been 
here,  acting  your  part  to  admiration.  I  have  only 
been  hoping  that  you  would  transgress  the  bounds 
of  propriety,  that  the  gens  d'armes  might  have  the 
pleasure  of  bowling  your  verdant  rotundity  out  of  the 
salle." 

"Why  if  you  command,"  returned  the  melon, 
looking  with  a  loving  leer  at  the  dashing  sailor  lad,  "  I 
might  be  willing  to  run  some  risk  of  being  turned 
out,  and  I  must  moreover  answer  your  question,  albeit 
your  speech  is  not  seasoned  with  such  a  spice  of  polite- 


188  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

ness  as  is  tasteful  to  my  palate.  But  if  your  feet, 
which  are  still  patting  an  echo  to  the  music,  can  re- 
main quiet  a  moment,  I  will  begin." 

"  Begin  and  make  an  end  at  once  then,"  said  the 
sailor  lad  impatiently,  "  for  I  should  like  to  hear  if 
your  adventure  was  like  my  own,  though  I  fear  me 
your  tale  will  not  be  worth  the  gallopade  I  am  losing 
while  listening  to  your  prate." 

The  melon,  thus  amicably  encouraged,  proceeded  : 

"  I  attended  the  exposition  this  morning,  to  pre- 
sent to  his  Majesty  a  fusil ;  one  which  had  cost  me 
the  labor  of  months,  one  in  short " — and  here  the 
melon  puffed  out  his  green  sides  and  drew  himself 
proudly  up, — "  a  fusil,  in  short,  worthy  of  Jean  Fer- 
ron.  Sire,  said  I,  when  his  Majesty  at  length  made 
the  long  expected  tour  of  the  rooms, — Sire !  said  I, 
with  all  humility,  and  dropping  on  one  knee,  permit 
a  poo?  fabricant  the  honor,  great  and  unmerited  as  it 
is,  of  offering  to  your  Majesty's  acceptance  a  fusil  on 
which  I  have  lavished  all  my  art,  to  render  it  worthy 
of  the  distinction  I  hope  it  will  receive  at  your  gra- 
cious hands." 

"  His  Majesty  eyed  the  superb  fusil  for  a  moment 
as  I  held  it  up,  and  then  what — what  do  you  suppose  ? 
No — you  never  can  suppose  !  My  brain  reels  when  I 
think  of  what  ensued.  He  said,  so  carelessly  that  the 
last  words  faintly  reached  my  ear  as  he  passed  rapidly 
on,  '  Thank  you,  friend,  your  fusil  would  be  of  no  use 
to  me  ;  I  always  have  mine  made  in  England.'  " 

"  Bravo  ! — Bravissimo  !  "  shouted  the  sailor  lad. 
"  A  proper  pendant  this  for  my  embroidered  silk  hose 
which  I  presumed  to  offer  to  the  Duchess  de  Berri,  as 


A   MASQUERADE.  189 

her  Royal  Highness  wears  her  petticoats  nearly  up  to 
her  knees,  believing  that  nobody  has  a  handsome  foot 
and  ankle  but  herself."  And  here  the  sailor  lad  gave 
a  complacent  look  downwards.  "  I  offered  these 
gems  of  art  to  her  Grace  with  all  the  engaging  modesty 
I  could  assume  for  the  occasion.  She  twitched  them 
out  of  my  hand  while  talking  with  three  cavaliers  at 
once,  and  tripped  on  without  vouchsafing  a  glance  at 
the  embroiderer,  or  even  inquiring  her  name.  But 
come,  my  fine  melon,  give  care  to  the  winds !  tune 
passes ! "  and  the  sailor  lad  bowled  off  the  melon, 
and  both  were  speedily  merged  in  the  motley 
crowd. 

"  We  may  draw  a  deep  moral  from  this  colloquy, 
Delorme,"  said  the  domino,  who  had » elicited  it  by 
his  first  remark  to  his  friend.  "  These  wild  dancers, 
grotesque  as  they  seem,  have  some  method  in  their 
madness.  Wherever  I  have  joined  their  busy  groups, 
still  the  same  tone  pervades  the  mass.  They  are 
ready  now  to  cry  c  a  las  les  JZourbonsS  " 

"  Aye  !  "  returned  Delorme  bitterly,  "  they  are 
ever  ready  to  be  swayed  by  the  caprice  of  the  mo- 
ment; but  where  is  the  arm  to  guide  the  vessel 
amid  the  storm  in  such  a  raging  element  ?  whose 
the  eye  to  foresee,- — the  genius  to  profit  of  coming 
events  ?  " 

"  Yours, — yours  !  my  dear  Victor  !  "  replied  his 
companion  hastily,  "why  should  you  for  a  moment 
doubt  the  power  you  possess  over  the  hearts  and 
minds  of  your  friends,  and  through  them  over  the 
thousands  who  can  be  fettered  by  the  magic  spell  you 
so  well  know  how  to  wield,  until  they  move  as  one  ? 


190  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

Where  else  can  we  look  with  equal  confidence  ?  The 
name  of  Lafayette  still  possesses  its  ancient  prestige, 
yet  it  is  but  a  name,  one  that  might  serve  as  a  dra- 
peau  in  the  beginning  of  a  revolution.  But  he  is 
old,  and  his  hand  trembling  with  the  infirmities  of 
nearly  eighty  years,  cannot  guide  the  helm  of  state 
amid  the  surging  billows  we  see  fast  approaching. 
True  it  is  that  your  name  has  not  appeared  in  the 
programme  of  the  great  drama  about  to  be  enacted, 
but  who  had  heard  of  Napoleon  at  your  age  ?  Times 
and  circumstances  make  men.  A  tree  of  stateliest 
growth  has  arisen  from  a  scion,  less  noble  than  the  one 
around  which  so  many  ardent  wishes  and  brilliant  an- 
ticipations are  now  entwined." 

"  You  speak  as  madly  as  these  wild  revellers, 
Dubourg,"  said  Victor,  though  his  heart  swelled  high 
at  the  enthusiastic  language  of  his  friend,  and  he  was 
well  aware  that  this  nattering  voice  echoed  the  senti- 
ments of  many  more.  "  You  speak  madly.  Of  what 
avail  would  it  be  to  stimulate  and  encourage  these 
frantic  people  to  a  revolution  ?  Our  scheme  of  a 
republic  could  not  be  realized ;  the  crowned  heads 
of  Europe  would  be  in  league  against  us.  But  even 
could  this  obstacle  be  overcome,  there  is  yet  another 
more  insurmountable.  Suppose  the  reigning  monarch 
doomed  to  the  scaffold,  or  exiled  with  all  his  imme- 
diate family,  the  hydra  head  of  royalty  still  exists.  It 
exists  in  a  form  yet  more  dangerous.  _  The  Duke  of 
Orleans  will  still  be  here.  His  virtues,  his  popularity, 
his  numerous  family,  all  render  him  the  most  formi- 
dable barrier  " — 

"  Assassinate  him ! "  interposed  a  low  hissing  voice 


A   MASQUERADE.  191 

in  an  under  tone,  but  sharp  and  piercing,  just  in  Vic- 
tor's ear. 

He  started,  and  turned  his  head  quickly  to  see 
who  had  thus  intruded  on  a  conversation,  which  had 
been  so  cautiously  conducted  that  none  but  an  accom- 
plished listener  could  have  caught  the  import  of  the 
words.  He  beheld  near  him  a  gigantic  serpent  with 
horrent  crest  and  "  many  a  scaly  fold,  voluminous  and 
vast,"  gliding  into  the  crowd  of  maskers  around. 

"  Fit  counsel  for  a  representative  of  Satan ! " 
said  Delorme,  as  the  monster  disappeared  from  their 
view. 

"  And  yet — may  there  not — be  some  plausibility, 
at  least,  in  the  idea  ?  "  replied  Dubourg,  hesitating  as 
he  pronounced  something  very  like  approval  of  the 
serpent's  counsel.  "  We  might  in  such  a  case  profit 
by  what  we  could  not  foresee  or  avert.  Suppose  our 
reigning  monarch  banished,  and  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
his  successor.  Do  you  not  suppose  his  life  would  be 
conspired  against  by  those  who  wished  to  restore  the 
young  Henri  V.  to  the  throne  of  his  ancestors  ?  And 
if  their  conspiracy  were  successful,  might  we  not 
profit  by  the  deed  without  being  sharers  in  the 
crime  ?  " 

Delorme  shuddered,  but  in  another/  moment  he 
recovered  his  self-possession. 

"  This  is  no  place,"  he  said,  "  to  discuss  topics  so 
dangerous.  We  have  already  been  overheard,  whether 
by  friend  or  foe  I  know  not.  But.  I  am  weary  of  this 
scene  of  confusion.  Let  us  avoid  the  crowd  of  our 
companions  forming  at  yonder-door  to  intercept  our 
retreat,  and  pass  out  on  the  other  side.  The  morn- 


192  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

ing  is  approaching  too  fast  for  me,  even,  to  wish  you 
good  night ! " 

With  these  words  the  friends  separated,  threading 
the  throng  to  the  door  of  entrance  as  rapidly  as  the 
dense  mass  permitted,  and  returned  to  their  respective 
homes 

But  not  to  sleep.  For  Victor  tossed  in  vain  on 
his  pillow,  notwithstanding  the  precaution  he  had 
taken  to  banish  every  ray  of  the  dawning  light  from 
his  apartment.  There  was  a  fever  in  his  veins,  as  well 
as  in  his  mind.  A  feeling  of  bitterness,  of  remorse, 
of  shame  forced  itself  on  him,  as  he  remembered  the 
events  of  the  past  night. 

He  had  not  only  been  a  witness  of  scenes  revolt- 
ing to  the  character  on  which  he  had  once  prided 
himself— that  of  superior  refinement, — not  simply  was 
he  a  spectator  for  an  hour,  and  as  a  matter  of 
curiosity,  at  these  mad  orgies  and  in  their  kindred 
haunts ;  but  he  found  himself  habitually  drawn  into 
them  as  one  of  the  initiated.  True  it  was  that  he 
had  not  joined  in  the  buffoonery,  not  to  use  a  harsher 
word,  that  had  distinguished  the  scene  of  the  pre- 
ceding evening.  But  he  experienced  a  loathing  in 
the  recollection  of  it,  and  a  feeling  of  uneasy  dissatis- 
faction with  "himself  at  the  facility  with  which  he  was 
induced  to  make  appointments  for  such  places. 

Then  came  the  remembrance  of  his  numerous 
conversations  with  these  busy  and  tumultuous  com- 
panions and  followers, — their  reckless  language,  their 
wild  schemes,  their  frenzied  ambition.  Again  he 
heard  repeated  in  suppressed  murmurs  "a  bas  Us 
Bourbons  !  " — Again,  when  sinking  into  a  disturbed 


A   MASQUERADE.  193 

slumber,  his  imagination  pictured  the  serpent  at  his 
ear  with  sharp  hissing  tones,  pronouncing  the  ominous 
words,  "  assassinate  him  !  " 

Nor  was  there  less  of  self-reproach  mingled  with 
the  reflection  that  in  these  hideous  words,  and  the 
oracular  manner  in  which  they  had  reached  his  ear,  a 
clue  was  afforded  him  to  a  dark  and  mysterious  con- 
versation which  he  had  been,  as  if  purposely,  permit- 
ted to  overhear,  some  time  before,  at  one  of  these 
midnight  assemblies.  If  the  suggestion  then  made 
was  only  one  of  vague  and  uncertain  character,  and 
spoken  of  as  a  desperate  expedient  of  the  Carlists 
when  their  sovereign  might  be  dethroned  and  re- 
placed by  another  branch  of  the  Bourbon  family,  the 
complacency  with  which  the  idea  was  discussed  proved 
that  there  were  other  factions  to  whom  such  a  deed 
would  not  be  unacceptable,  if  they  could  escape  the 
odium  attached  to  it. 

The  half-approval  given  by  Dubourg  to  the  atro- 
cious idea  of  the  assassination  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
convinced  him  that  there  was  no  crime,  however  re- 
volting, that  might  not  be  called  a  "virtue"  or  a 
"  necessity  "  in  the  enormous  latitude  of  the  revolu- 
tionary vocabulary.  He  felt  as  one  on  the  brink  of  a 
yawning  gulf,  whose  edges  were  already  crumbling 
beneath  his  feet.  For  a  moment  he  wavered,  hesi- 
tated, looked  backward,  and  longed  to  escape.  His 
imagination  filled  the  winds  with  mingled  hisses  and 
groans  and  shouts  of  execration  that  would  pursue 
him  in  his  retreat.  He  looked  forward — the  volcanic 
gulf  still  yawned  before  him,  displayed  more  fully  to 
his  view  by  a  lurid  glare  within.  His  resolve  was 
9 


194  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

made, — no  alternative  seemed  to  remain  but  to  leap 
with  one  mighty  effort  to  the  opposite  side  ! 

Victor  started  suddenly,  and  the  dreamy  vision 
that  had  begun  to  steal  over  his  senses  was  ban- 
ished. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE     INCOGNITA. 

WHILE  Victor  Delorine  was  thus  the  prey  of  con- 
flicting passions,  and  haunted  even  in  his  feverish 
slumbers  by  the  demon  of  ambition,  he  little  suspect- 
ed that  he  was  the  dupe  of  a  man  more  subtile,  more 
artful  than  himself. 

Victor,  as  we  have  seen,  had  sometimes  expe- 
rienced feelings  of  self-reproach  and  repentance,  while 
engaged  in  the  mad  career  that  he  nattered  himself 
was  leading  him  to  a  glorious  distinction.  His  friend, 
if  a  title  so  sacred  and  so  unmerited  could  be  applied 
to  Dubourg,  had  not  even  the  headlong  impulse  of 
early  youth  to  plead  as  an  excuse  for  the  indulgence 
of  evil  passions  ;  for  he  was  the  senior  of  Victor  by 
several  •  years,  and  had  long  accustomed  himself  to 
subject  every  impulse  and  every  other  passion  to  the 
two  that  ruled  him  with  equally  despotic  sway — 
avarice  and  ambition.  His  ambition  was,  indeed,  so 
far  merged  in  the  meaner  passion  of  avarice,  that 
they  were  inseparably  mingled  in  his  sordid  mind. 

He  had  risen  from  a  lowly  station  in  life  by  strug- 
gles with  adverse  fortune,  and  his  sinuous  course  had 


196  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

been  marked  by  many  a  deed  that  an  honest  man 
would  have  blushed  to  be  suspected  of.  But  he  con- 
cealed the  basest  acts  under  a  cloak  of  hypocrisy  so 
skilfully  adjusted  as  to  blind  the  keenest  eyes,  for  his 
tact  and  talent  were  only  equalled  by  his  utter  desti- 
tution of  principle. 

Dubourg  had  not  the  advantage  of  a  handsome 
person  to  recommend  him ;  but  even  this  he  knew 
how  to  turn  to  his  own  account,  for  there  was  less 
danger  of  rivalry  from  those  who  possessed  "  the 
fatal  gift,"  and  his  secret  machinations  were  less  sus- 
pected beneath  the  unpretending  guise  in  which  he 
chose  to  appear.  Still,  he  availed  himself  of  every 
art  to  win  the  confidence  of  his  dupes,  and  success- 
fully practised  each  one  that  gave  him  influence  in 
the  circles  in  which  he  appeared.  The  patronage  of 
a  few  persons  of  distinction,  on  whose  good  nature 
he  found  means  to  impose,  or  whose  laxity  of  princi- 
ple made  the  talent  of  Dubourg  useful  to  them,  had 
given  him  access  to  their  society,  and  he  was  often 
seen  in  the  salons  of  the  great,  passing  with  the  good- 
natured,  who  were  too  indolent  to  examine  his  preten- 
sions, for  "  a  -good  fellow,"  and  with  the  unprincipled 
as  "  a  man  of  decided  genius." 

His  most  efficient  patron  he  had  found'  in  Mr. 
Belmont,  who  entertained,  and  not  without  reason,  a 
high  opinion  of  the  capacity  of  Dubourg.  In  many 
transactions,  which  both  the  man  of  genius  and  his 
patron  would  have  been  most  unwilling  to  reveal  to 
the  scrutinizing  eyes  of  the  commercial  world,  Mr. 
Belmont  had  found  Dubourg  eminently  useful  to  him. 
But  the  patron,  though  often  blinded  and  duped  by 


THE   INCOGNITA.  197 

his  assistant,  never  relaxed  his  gripe  upon  the  treas- 
ures on  which  the  longing  eyes  of  the  latter  were 
steadfastly  fixed.  He  began  to  grow  faint  with  un- 
appeased  hunger,  as  he  daily  surveyed  the  glittering 
heaps  accumulating — but  not  for  him.  His  was  one 
of  the  hearts  that  Almeria  had  declared  her  vision 
not  sufficiently  microscopic  to  see,  and  he  found  it 
impossible  to  exercise  his  arts  to  any  advantage  with 
a  father,  whose  soul  was  iron-bound  like  the  chests 
that  contained  his  gold,  and  with  a  daughter  whose 
caprices  would  baffle  them,  or  break  through  the 
subtlest  web  that  his  ingenuity  could  weave  around 
her. 

The  hope  of  a  successful  termination  of  his  suit 
had  led  him  to  seek  Almeria  at  her  father's  chateau 
near  Geneva,  and  while  there,  he  frequently  saw  the 
young  gardener  and  his  pretty  bride. 

The  reasons  that  induced  him  to  join  Mr.  Belmont 
in  recommending  to  Antoine  to  seek  his  fortunes  in 
Paris  soon  became  apparent.  The  unsuspicious  young- 
gardener  was  easily  persuaded  by  the  officious  zeal 
of  his  new  patron,  who  promised  him  every  thing. 
How  these  fair  promises  were  fulfilled  has  been  seen. 
Sophie  was  less  tempted  by  the  insidious  offer  of  the 
imperceptible  heart  than  Almeria  had  been,  and 
hated,  as  far  as  her  kind  nature  could  hate,  the  base 
man  who  was  the  author  of  all  their  misfortunes ;  for 
he  continued  to  follow  Antoine  with  secret  malice, 
and  by  a  look,  a  shrug,  or  an  innuendo,  whenever  ap- 
pealed to  for  testimonials  of  his  character,  effectually 
barred  the  door  to  his  success. 

To  be  effective,  wickedness  as  well  as  virtue  must. 


198  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

have  materials  to  work  with.  In  laying  the  train  of 
the  approaching  revolution,  there  were  some  mate- 
rials wanted  which  were  only  to  be  found,  where 
misery  and  destitution  render  crime  familiar.  But 
Dubourg,  and  the  most  unprincipled  of  his  associates, 
required  something  to  further  their  designs,  which  it 
was  difficult  to  find.  They  needed  men  with  principle 
enough  to  be  trusted  with  the  darkest  plots,  without 
betraying  their  instigators,  and  whose  abject  poverty 
might  lead  them  to  crime  for  the  sake  of  the  gold 
that  could  save  them  from  famine. 

It  was  precisely  in  this  situation  that  the  secret 
machinations  of  Dubourg  had  placed  the  unfortunate 
Antoine,  though  he  was  careful  never  to  awaken  sus- 
picion against  himself.  The  Swiss  at  that  time  was  se- 
lected for  his  fidelity  to  the  interests  of  his  employer, — 
a  recommendation  well  attested  by  the  pertinacity 
with  which  royalty  itself  leaned  upon  a  guard  of 
that  nation,  in  preference  to  the  homeborn  regiments. 

Antoine,  sorely  beset,  bewildered  by  the  vague 
insinuations  and  golden  promises  of  the  conspirators, 
weakened  by  illness,  tortured  by  the  cries  of  his 
famishing  children,  and  seeing  his  young  wife  perish- 
ing before  his  eyes,  was  on  the  point  of  giving  an 
indefinite  oath  to  be  and  do  whatever  his  employers 
should  command.  This  they  exacted  of  him  before 
they  would  consent  to  relieve  his  misery,  well  know- 
ing the  importance,  almost  superstitious,  that  he 
would  attach  to  his  promises.  Madame  Laval  had 
observed  the  wild  and  terrible  expression  that  marked 
his  countenance  when  he  found  her  in  his  abode  of 
sorrow,  and  the  same  cause  elicited  his  strong  emotion 


THE   INCOGNITA.  199 

when,  with  tears  of  gratitude,  he  had  fervently  invoked 
a  blessing  on  Constance  as  his  benefactress  and  "  an 
angel  who  had  saved  a  family  from  death,  and  an 
immortal  soul  from  perdition." 

But  Victor  Delorme  was  a  dupe  in  a  matter  of 
more  vital  concernment  to  him. 

Despairing  of  the  acquisition  of  Mr.  Belmont's 
millions  by  a  union  with  his  only  daughter  and  heir- 
ess, the  fertile  genius  of  Dubourg  contrived  another 
scheme.  His  intimacy  with  Victor  put  him  in  pos- 
session of  all  the  most  important  private  affairs  of  the 
Comte  de  Visconti,  who,  with  the  characteristic  neg- 
ligence of  an  Italian  noble,  intrusted  his  estates  to 
agents  he  supposed  faithful,  and  passed  his  days  in  the 
elegant  pursuits  of  literature  and  the  arts. 

The  unprepossessing  visitor,  who  appeared  during 
the  reader's  first  introduction  to  Beatrice  and  her  fa- 
ther, was  no  other^than  Dubourg,  who  had  secured 
possession  of  the  letter  that  Victor  should  have  de- 
livered in  person,  and  made  it  a  pretext  for  obtaining 
a  view  of  the  beautiful  recluse. 

From  that  moment,  his  determination  was  formed. 
The  prize  was  worthy  the  exercise  of  his  subtlest  in- 
genuity, his  deepest  art.  He  had  already  found 
means  to  expose  the  count  to  dangerous  suspicions, 
by  his  machinations.  This  was  an  important  step  in 
his  plan.  The  proud  noble  would  have  submitted  to 
any  degradation  rather  than  that  of  bestowing  the 
hand  of  his  daughter  on  such  a  man  as  Dubourg,  and 
this  he  well  knew ;  but  there  were  means  to  over- 
come these  scruples.  If  he  could  secure  the  hand  of 
the  signorina  by  any  treachery,  however  base,  he 


200  HOME   AND   THE   WOKLD. 

might  hope  in  time  to  mitigate  the  indignation  of  the 
father,  by  removing  the  odium  he  had  himself  been 
secretly  instrumental  in  casting  upon  him.  He  could 
restore  him  to  prosperity,  and  thus  present  a  claim 
not  only  to  forgiveness  but  gratitude. 

But  the  heart  sickens  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
being  so  lost  to  humanity  as  well  as  honor.  Leaving 
him  to  revolve  his  dark  schemes,  we  will  continue 
our  narrative. 

The  Comte  de  Visconti  and  his  lovely  daughter 
were  still  in  possession  of  his  residence  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  notwithstanding  the  apprehen- 
sions he  had,  without  reserve,  expressed  to  her  of  his 
failing  fortunes,  and  the  difficulties  that  beset  his  path, 
at  home  and  abroad. 

This  was  an  inexplicable  enigma  to  Beatrice,  for 
she  well  knew  her  father's  lofty  sense  of  honor,  that 
he  never  would  incur  debts  whichjt  would  be  impos- 
sible for  him  to  discharge,  and  that  the  elegance,  in 
which  his  establishment  was  continued,  could  not  be 
justified  but  by  the  continuance  of  the  ample  means 
he  had  hitherto  uninterruptedly  enjoyed.  Whenever 
she  approached  the  subject,  it  was  waived  by  the 
count,  sometimes  playfully,  and  at  others  so  gravely 
that  she  feared  to  offend  him  by  manifesting  a  degree 
of  unbecoming  curiosity  in  prosecuting  her  inquiries 
farther. 

All  her  approaches  to  the  theme,  with  which  her 
thoughts  were  occupied,  were  evaded,  sometimes  ab- 
ruptly even  when  the  manner  in  which  they  were  at 
first  received  seemed  to  promise  a  satisfactory  con- 
clusion, and  she  almost  resolved  never  to  allude  to  it 


^  THE   INCOGNITA.  201 

again,  though  her  mind  dwelt  on  it  earnestly  and 
sadly. 

Some  mystery,  she  felt  convinced,  there  was  in  the 
circumstances  in  which  they  were  placed,  for  she  per- 
ceived a  certain  anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  count  to 
withdraw  her  yet  more  from  observation ;  and  though 
her  sojourn  in  the  metropolis  had  been,  to  her,  marked 
by  no  event  of  interest  in  society,  as  she  had  never 
appeared  in  the  circle  she  seemed  formed  to  adorn, 
her  life  was  now  completely  that  of  a  recluse.  In  the 
heart  of  the  most  brilliant  metropolis  of  Europe,  she 
knew  nothing  of  its  inhabitants,  or  of  the  gay  scenes 
that  were  passing  near  and  around  her.  Content 
with  the  simple  pleasures  to  which  only  she  had  been 
accustomed,  she  needed  not  the  delirious  enjoyments 
of  those,  whose  days  and  nights  followed  each  other 
in  one  continued  round  of  time-destroying  dissi- 
pation. 

Yet  there  was  a  certain  sadness  in  the  solitude  to 
which  she  often  found  herself  consigned,  and  it  was 
sometimes  in  vain  that  she  sought  the  sweet  influences 
of  her  music,  her  books,  her  flowers.  The  strains 
were  of  softest  harmony,  but  they  were  only  her  own ; 
the  higher  charm  of  poetry  sometimes  lost  its  power 
to  captivate,  and  her  flowers  and  birds  served  only 
to  recall  the  recollection  of  her  loved  and  regretted 
home. 

"  You  are  almost  as  pale  to-day  as  that  white  robe 
you  wear,  my  daughter,"  said  the  count  to  her  one 
morning,  as  they  sat  together  in  his  studio,  after  look- 
ing at  her  for  some  time  with  affectionate  solicitude. 
"  The  white  veil  you  threw  negligently  on,  just  now 
9* 


202  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

when  you  were  tending  your  flowers,  made  you  quite 
a  dame  blanche,  and  if  properly  arranged,  would 
complete  your  resemblance  to  my  fair  Flora." 

As  he  spoke,  he  threw  the  floating  folds  around 
her,  and  arranging  them  with  the  hand  of  a  finished 
artist,  the  resemblance  between  the  beautiful  original 
and  the  hardly  less  beautiful  statue  was  complete. 
With  a  feeling  of  gratulation  and  pride  the  count  sur- 
veyed alternately  the  peerless  creation  of  an  art,  which 
he  had  studied  and  practised  with  intense  enthusiasm, 
and  the  lovely  original  in  whom  his  fondest  hopes  and 
affections  were  centred. 

"  Both  are  perfect !  "  he  said  at  length  in  an  under- 
tone, as  if  soliloquizing.  "  The  time  is  well  chosen 
for  displaying  them  to  the  highest  advantage.  A 
princess  may  well  be  pardoned  for  her  anxious  desire 
to  look  on  forms  so  faultless.  Beatrice,  my  love," 
he  continued  aloud,  "I  have  made  perhaps  a  rash 
promise,  and  one  for  which  I  should  ask  your  for- 
giveness." 

"  My  forgiveness,  dear  father  ?  then  it  must,  in- 
deed, be  a  strangely  rash  pi omise ;  but  whatever  it  may 
have  been,  you  are  assured,  without  a  possibility  of 
doubt,  that  I  am  ready  to  fulfil  it,  if  there  is  any  thing 
in  it  which  relates  to  me."  And  she  looked  up  in  his 
face  with  a  confiding  smile. 

"  Nay,  Beatrice,  I  may  ask  more  than  you  will  find 
it  easy  to  grant.  It  will  require  all  your  resolution 
to  repress  the  curiosity  natural  to  your  sex  and  age, 
when  I  inform  you  that  two  visitors  will  honor  you 
with  their  presence  this  morning,  both  of  whom  you 
will  find  elegant  and  attractive,  and  that  while  you 


THE  INCOGNITA.  203 

will  be  permitted  to  form  their  acquaintance,  their 
names  will  remain  unknown  to  you.  This  is  their 
request,  and  as  it  accords  with  my  own  wishes,  you 
will,  I  feel  assured,  seek  to  know  no  more  than  I 
desire  to  communicate.  A  young  lady,  under  the 
protection  of  her  brother,  will  make  us  this  visit. 
The  lady  possesses  a  singular  genius  for  the  art  of 
sculpture,  which  she  has  studied  with  the  enthusiasm, 
and  practises  with  the  skill,  of  an  artist.  She  has 
heard  both  of  my  statue  and  the  original,  and  anx- 
iously desires  to  compare  them.  You  will  be  yet 
more  disposed  to  gratify  her  wish,  when  you  learn 
that  her  father  has  been  to  me  a  friend  so  noble,  so 
generous,  that  I  would  peril  my  life  for  him." 

"It  will  then  be  a  small  sacrifice  to  peril  my 
humility,  my  dear  father,"  said  Beatrice  smiling, 
"  though  I  confess  I  have  some  dread  of  the  effect 
of  this  flattering  process  upon  my  vanity.  But  your 
commands  are  laws  for  me,  and  your  pleasure  is  mine. 
I  cannot  promise  that  the  feeling  of  curiosity  you  so 
anxiously  deprecate  will  remain  entirely  dormant  in 
my  mind,  but,  at  least,  it  shall  not  be  expressed." 

"  This  is  all  I  can  ask  or  wish,  my  daughter,"  said 
the  count,  "  but  I  hear  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the 
pavement  of  the  court,"  and  he  hastily  left  the 
studio. 

A  rare  condescension  this  for  a  haughty  member 
of  the  ducal  family  of  Milan.  One  part  of  the  mys- 
tery was  already  solved,  for  Beatrice  knew  that  her 
father  would  observe  such  ceremony  only  with  persons 
of  the  highest  rank.  In  a  few  minutes  he  re-entered, 
accompanied  by  the  expected  visitors. 


204  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

The  embarrassment,  which  Beatrice  naturally  ex- 
perienced immediately  after  the  annunciation  of  the 
object  of  their  visit  by  her  father,  and  before  she  had 
entirely  recovered  from  the  surprise  it  had  occasioned, 
was  soon  banished  by  their  graceful  ease  and  self- 
possession. 

The  lady  was,  as  her  father  had  described  her, 
young  and  lovely.  Eighteen  summers  had  hardly 
shed  their  roses  in  her  path  ;  yet  was  there  a  pensive 
expression  in  her  face  that  pictured  thought  beyond 
her  years,  though  her  dark  eye  beamed  with  sensi- 
bility and  goodness.  Her  hair  was  simply  parted  on 
the  thoughtful  brow,  and  her  attire,  though  in  the 
purest  taste,  partook  of  the  same  simplicity.  Her 
stature,  though  rather  above  the  middle  height,  was 
contrasted  with  that  of  her  brother,  whose  tall  form 
bespoke  command.  An  expression  of  calm  dignity 
marked  the  quiet  glance  of  his  clear  blue  eye,  a  pro- 
fusion of  light  brown  hair  shaded  his  fair  forehead, 
and  a  slight  moustache  contrasted  equally  well  -with 
his  fresh  complexion.  The  regularity  of  his  features 
corresponded  well  with  his  fine  form,  and  both  were 
enhanced  by  the  elegance  of  his  address,  which  united 
a  becoming  modesty  with  manly  self-possession. 

"  You  will  pardon,  I  trust,  the  liberty  we  have 
taken,"  he  said,  as  he  advanced  toward  Beatrice  with 
an  air  of  respectful  courtesy,  "  in  availing  ourselves 
of  the  permission  of  the  Comte  de  Visconti  to  look 
at  this  beautiful  specimen  of  his  talent  in  the  art  of 
sculpture.  My  sister's  passion  for  it  is  so  well  under- 
stood by  her  friends,  that  she  enjoys  privileges  which 
would  be  denied  to  others." 


THE   INCOGNITA.  205 

"  And  yet  another  privilege  she  may  hope  to 
claim,"  added  the  lady  with  a  whining  smile,  that 
chased  away  the  habitually  pensive  expression  of  her 
face  like  a  beam  of  sunshine  in  an  April  morning ; 
"  the  privilege  of  forming  an  acquaintance  with  the 
lovely  original." 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  with  a  captivating 
grace,  she  touched  the  blushing  cheek  of  Beatrice 
with  her  lips. 

"  The  resemblance  between  these  miracles  of  nature 
and  art  is  lessened  by  the  roses  I  have  unintentionally 
called  forth,"  she  continued,  "  but  it  does  not  render 
the  original  less  charming.  If  my  passion  had  been 
for  the  art  of  painting,  instead  of  sculpture,  I  could 
not  have  used  a  more  ingenious  device  to  perfect  a 
model  I  should  have  been  too  happy  to  possess." 

Beatrice  blushed  yet  more  deeply ;  but  how  could 
she  be  offended  at  words  of  such  courtly  phrase, 
uttered  by  lips  so  fair,  and  in  cadence  so  gentle  ? 

Each  word  of  her  elegant  visitors  added  to  the 
charm  of  their  conversation,  and  at  the  end  of  an 
hour,  which  had  glided  imperceptibly  away,  she  found 
herself  drawn  towards  them  by  a  sympathy,  which 
hearts  and  minds  of  youthful  purity  and  refinement 
alone  can  fully  appreciate. 

"  I  am  half  tempted  to  part  with  my  incognita," 
said  the  lady  looking  at  the  count,  as  she  rose  to 
depart.  "  It  is  hardly  fair  to  pronounce  your  name 
as  I  do,  sweet  Beatrice,  without  revealing  my  own 
But  you  will  pardon  this  mystery,  as  it  meets  with 
the  approval  of  your  father,  and  I  hope  you  will  some- 
times think  of  me  simply  as — Marie." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE     CONFESSION. 

AN  acquaintance  so  auspiciously  begun  was  as 
happily  continued.  The  visits  of  the  young  incognita 
were  several  times  repeated,  and  each  interview  en- 
hanced the  respect  and  admiration  Beatrice  enter- 
tained for  her. 

The  superior  knowledge  attained  by  the  Comte 
de  Yisconti  in  her  favorite  art,  and  the  delight  she 
evidently  took  in  his  conversation  and  instructions  in 
it ; — the  pleasure  with  which  she  listened  to  the  culti- 
vated voice  of  Beatrice  in  song  or  in  poetical  recita- 
tions in  her  musical  language,  and  above  these,  the 
interchange  of  thoughts  of  refined  taste  and  delicacy 
which  marked  the  sedulous  care  bestowed  on  the 
education  of  these  lovely  young  persons,  formed  a 
bond  of  sympathy  between  them  to  last  with  life. 
Alas  !  that  one  of  these  fair  flowers  should  have  been 
doomed  to  wither,  when  it  had  just  expanded  its 
bright  blossoms  of  hope  and  promise  ! 

It  may  be  presumed  that  Beatrice  felt  a  natural 
desire  to  penetrate  the  veil  which  concealed  from  her 
view  the  name  and  history  of  the  gentle  incognita  ; 


THE   CONFESSION.  207 

but  any  manifestation  of  this  feeling  would  have  been 
a  departure  from  the  promise  she  had  made  on  her 
first  introduction  to  her,  and  her  father  seemed  dis- 
posed to  adhere  to  his  own  resolution  on  the  subject, 
for  it  was  one  on  which  he  never  invited  her  to  con- 
verse. His  lightest  word  had  always  been  her  law ; 
and  accustomed  as  she  was  to  anticipate  rather  than 
to  follow  his  instructions,  she  was  content  to  enjoy  the 
pleasure  afforded  her  from  this  new  and  fruitful  source, 
without  seeking  to  dissipate  the  mystery  that  sur- 
rounded it. 

Happy  she  was,  also,  to  perceive  that  since  the 
auspicious  day  of  her  first  acquaintance  with  her  fair 
friend,  the  cloud  on  the  brow  of  her  father  seemed  to 
lessen.  Though  there  were  evidently  cares  on  his 
mind,  they  were  apparently  less  corroding,  and  arose 
more  from  the  wayward  conduct  of  Victor,  whose 
revolutionary  sentiments  and  schemes  could  not  al- 
ways be  concealed  from  his  kinsman,  than  from  any 
immediate  apprehension  of  danger  to  himself  and  his 
fortunes. 

Beatrice  was  one  morning  in  pleased  anticipation 
of  the  visit  which  was  to  relieve  her  solitude,  and  had 
fallen  into  one  of  those  pleasant  day  dreams  in  which 
youth  loves  to  indulge,  when  it  was  interrupted  by 
the  arrival  of  the  young  incognita. 

"  I  shall  not  maintain  this  mystic  guise  much 
longer,  Beatrice,"  she  said,  after  they  had  passed  an 
hour  in  their  usually  delightful  manner.  "  Nor  should 
I  ever  have  assumed  it  but  for  the  desire  I  felt  to  form 
an  acquaintance  with  one,  of  whom  I  had  heard  a  rap- 
turous description.  The  young  Count  de  Beaumanoir 


208  HOME   AND    THE   WORLD. 

is  one  of  our  best  friends.  He  possesses  the  esteem 
and  confidence  of  my  father  and  family  in  a  high 
degree  ;  and  at  a  time  when  he  could  speak  with  less 
reserve  of  you  than  circumstances  now  permit,  I  be- 
came acquainted  with  your  virtues  and  accomplish- 
ments. I  wished  to  judge  for  myself  of  the  reality 
of  his  glowing  picture,  without  the  formality  and 
etiquette  which  would  have  attended  any  other  mode 
of  introduction  to  you  than  that  I  have  chosen.  My 
object  is  now  attained.  I  flatter  myself  that  the  ice 
of  ceremony  will  never  hereafter  have  power  to  raise 
a  barrier  between  us,  and  I  have  exacted  a  promise 
from  your  father  to  present  you  to  my  parents  soon, 
notwithstanding  the  determination  he  seems  to  have 
adopted  to  withdraw  you  at  present  from  the  world." 

With  these  words,  she  took  her  leave  with  her 
wonted  kindness. 

The  reverie  interrupted  by  the  visit  of  the  incog- 
nita was  resumed,  after  she  had  departed.  The 
thoughts  of  Beatrice  naturally  reverted  to  the  subject 
on  which  her  friend  had  delicately  touched,  and  the 
warm  commendation  of  the  young  Count  de  Beau- 
manoir  brought  a  glow  of  pleasure  to  her  cheek. 
Happily  for  Beatrice,  for  her  well-being  and  future 
promise  of  life,  the  choice  made  for  her  by  her  father, 
in  the  manner  understood  and  practised  among  the 
higher  classes  of  continental  Europe,  had  fallen  upon 
one  endowed  with  amiable  qualities  and  accomplish- 
ments equal  to  her  own, — one  that  she  could  love  and 
trust. 

Aware  of  the  machinations  that  threatened  the 
Comte  de  Yisconti,  Beaumanoir  had  resolved  to  uri- 


THE   CONFESSION.  209 

ravel  them,  and  his  presence  in  Milan,  the  native  city 
of  the  count,  was  necessary  to  the  accomplishment 
of  his  purpose.  During  several  months  he  had  been 
absent  on  this  mission,  and  it  was  at  so  propitious  a 
time  that  Victor  hoped  to  supplant  him  in  the  heart 
of  Beatrice.  What  would  have  been  his  emotions 
had  he  known  that  a  mind,  deeper  and  darker  than  his 
own,  was  at  work  to  render  his  plans  futile,  and  was 
busily  preparing  still  "  a  lower  deep  v  for  her  than  the 
one  in  which  he  would  himself  have  plunged  the 
object  of  his  fond  idolatry  ! 

The  portals  of  the  court  were  hardly  closed  upon 
the  chariot  of  the  incognita,  when  Victor  entered  the 
studio,  where  Beatrice  was  still  sitting. 

Profiting  by  the  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  the 
Comte  de  Visconti,  who,  though  he  might  have  pos- 
sessed judgment  and  penetration  with  regard  to 
others,  Victor  well  knew  was  blind  to  his  faults,  he 
did  not  dread  his  kinsman's  displeasure  in  coming  an 
unbidden  guest. 

The  ingenuity  of  Beatrice  had  been  exerted  to  the 
utmost  to  avoid  all  communication  with  him,  except  in 
the  presence  of  her  father,  for  her  gentle  nature  shrunk 
from  the  idea  of  giving  him  pain,  and  she  hoped  that 
the  silent  reproof  conveyed  by  avoiding  him  would 
be  more  efficacious  in  convincing  him  that  his  passion 
was  hopeless,  than  any  words  from  her  could  have 
been.  There  was,  therefore,  something  of  vexation 
mingled  with  the  agitation  she  experienced  in  finding 
herself  thus  unexpectedly  drawn  into  an  interview 
with  him.  The  feeling  of  vexation  her  womanly 
pride  and  dignity  repressed, — her  agitation  she  could 


210  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

not  entirely  conceal.  Victor,  with  his  accustomed 
penetration,  detected  both. 

With  an  air  of  easy  self-possession,  he  accosted 
her ;  touched  lightly  and  gracefully  on  the  topics 
which  are  usually  discussed  by  transient  visitors,  and 
framed  his  discourse  with  such  consummate  art,  that 
at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  Beatrice  was  re-assured. 

Unconscious  of  the  advantage  afforded  him  by 
her  own  inexperience  and  his  subtlety,  she  willingly 
yielded  to  the  idea  that  she  had  judged  him  with  too 
much  severity, — that  his  declaration  of  a  passion  for 
her  was  only  a  momentary  caprice, — or  it  might  indeed 
have  been  feigned  to  afford  him,  as  well  as  herself,  a 
subject  of  diversion  at  a  future  day.  The  feeling  of 
confidence  and  regard  which  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  accord  to  him,  in  days  past,  returned,  and  she  was 
now  surprised  that  she  could  have  looked  upon  his 
cenduct  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  thoughtless 
indiscretion,  attributable  only  to  his  waywardness, 
and  not,  as  she  had  feared,  to  a  dereliction  of  prin- 
ciple. 

"  You  are  then  unacquainted  with  the  name  and 
rank  of  the  lady  I  met  on  entering  this  morning,"  he 
said,  after  many  light  topics  were  exhausted.  "  If 
you  have  much  curiosity  on  the  subject,  I  think  I  can 
give  you  a  clue,  by  which  you  may  make  the  dis- 
covery." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  the  pleasure  I  enjoy  at 
present,"  reph'ed  Beatrice,  "without  trespassing  on 
forbidden  ground.  It  was  her  wish,  as  well  as  that 
of  my  father,  that  I  should  make  no  inquiry  on  these 
subjects,  at  present.  Some  days  hence,  I  am  assured 


THE  CONFESSION.  211 

by  the  lady  herself,  that  this  mystery  will  be  at  an 
end.  I  suspect  she  only  wished  to  prepare  an  agree- 
able surprise  for  me." 

"  And  she  has  repeated  these  visits  several  times  ?  " 
inquired  Victor  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  several  times  ; — recently  under  the  protec- 
tion of  a  venerable  lady,  who  seems  merely  a  protect- 
ress, as  she  does,  not  appear  interested  in  our  books, 
music,  or  conversation.  The  first  time  I  saw  her,  she 
was  accompanied  by  her  brother." 

"  And  you  found  the  brother  as  charming  as  the 
sister  ?  "  said  Victor  significantly. 

"  Yes,  quite  as  charming,"  replied  Beatrice  with  a 
smile,  detecting  the  covert  malice  of  his  insinuation. 
"  His  face  and  form  would  do  honor  to  majesty  itself, 
while  his  manners  are  so  gentle  and  winning,  that  a 
prince  might  envy  their  charm." 

"  Ah,  Beatrice  !  you  have  lost  your  heart.  This 
young  hero  of  your  story  is  doubtless  in  possession 
of  it.  But  suppose,  only  to  make  the  romance  more 
interesting,  that  this  elegant  young  man  were,  by  some 
magic,  converted  into  a  prince — nay,  into  a  king,  or  that 
your  fair  incognita  should  be  suddenly  transformed 
into  a  princess, — would  it  not  greatly  heighten  your 
respect  and  admiration  for  them  ?  " 

"  You  do  me  injustice,  Victor,  in  supposing  that  I 
attach  an  undue  value  to  the  external  circumstances 
in  which  princes  are  placed.  I  acknowledge  that 
there  is  a  certain  feeling  in  my  mind  of  the  respect 
due  to  *  princes  and  judges  of  the  earth,'  and  that 
the  sentiment  of  loyalty,  when  the  sovereign  who 


212  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

claims  it  is  gifted  with  all  the  great  qualities  a  king 
should  possess,  is  high  and  ennobling." 

"  These  sentiments,  as  aVisconti,  you  have  naturally 
inherited  from  your  father,"  said  Victor,  "  but  are  you 
quite  sure  you  would  be  guided  by  them  in  your  judg- 
ment, if  my  hypothesis  were  to  prove,  true  ?  " 

"  The  apparent  virtues  and  accomplishments  of  the 
hero  and  heroine  of  my  romance,  as  you  are  pleased 
to  call  it,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  would  be  a  guarantee 
for  my  sincerity  ;  but  even  if  I  should  find  that  a  fairy 
wand  had  converted  them  into  a  king  and  a  princess, 
which  I  do  not  anticipate,  I  should  not  admire  them 
more.  Indeed  I  should  regret  it,  for  the  respect  due 
to  their  high  rank  would  at  once  raise  a  barrier  of 
etiquette  around  them,  which  I,  with  my  youth  and 
inexperience,  could  never  venture  to  pass." 

"  They  are  indeed  young  and  fair  as  you  have 
described  them,  Beatrice,"  said  Victor,  and  a  cloud 
passed  over  his  brow,  while  a  sigh,  which  he  could  not 
repress,  was  audible.  "  It  were  sad  to  consign  two 
such  beings  to  irreparable  misfortune, — perhaps  to  an 
early  grave ! " 

Beatrice  looked  up  with  surprise.  There  was  a 
tone  of  such  deep  sadness  in  his  words,  and  an  ex- 
pression so  gloomy  and  mysterious  flitted  over  his 
features,  as  he  uttered  them,  that  he  seemed  to  be 
speaking  prophetic  truth  rather  than  sentiments  of 
vague  supposition.  Startled  by  her  inquiring  glance, 
he  resumed  his  lighter  manner,  though  with  some 
constraint. 

"  Have  you  no  fears  then,"  he  said,  as  if  willing  to 
change  the  subject,  though  conscious  that  he  was  en- 


THE   CONFESSION.  213 

tering  on  one  still  more  embarrassing,  "  that  I  may 
assume  the  character  of  a  spy,  and  report  all  you 
have  told  me  of  this  elegant  cavalier  ?  " 

"  No,  Victor,  I  have  no  fears  that  you  will  act  an 
unworthy  part,"  replied  Beatrice,  with  an  effort  to 
feel  the  confidence  she  assumed,  though  her  voice 
faltered,  and  she  avoided  the  sad  and  earnest  look 
that  she  perceived  in  the  eyes  which  she  dreaded  to 
meet,  notwithstanding  the  careless  tone  he  had,  until 
that  moment,  preserved. 

"  If  you  have  no  fears,  Beatrice,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  and  approaching  her  more  nearly,  "  and  if  your 
feelings  for  me  have  undergone  no  change,  give  me 
your  hand  in  token  of  undiminished  friendship." 

She  gave  the  hand  frankly  and  cordially,  but  her 
eyes  were  still  cast  down,  and  it  trembled  as  he 
clasped  it  in  his  and  led  her  to  a  seat.  Her  agitation 
became  yet  more  painful  when  he  knelt  before  her 
and  bowed  his  forehead  on  that  hand.  He  raised  his 
head,  and  she  was  shocked  at  the  wild  expression  that 
flashed  over  his  pale  features. 

*"  Beatrice  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  my  life  is  in  your 
hands  :  oh,  do  not  thus  turn  away  from  me  !  To  you 
I  have  looked  as  the  guardian  angel  who  would  lead 
me  in  the  paths  of  honor.  Without  that  angelic 
guardianship,  I  may  be  lost  to  all  that  can  claim  the 
name.  Tell  me  that  you  do  not  spurn  the  love  that 
consumes  my  heart !  " 

"  Victor,"  she  replied  mournfully,  "  I  believed  that 
this  wild  dream  had  long  since  been  dissipated.  You 
wrong  yourself  and  me  in  thus  urging  a  suit,  which 
can  bring  only  sorrow  and  blame  to  both." 


214  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  No,  no ! "  he  returned  passionately,  and  catching 
a  ray  of  hope  from  her  gentle  and  subdued  manner, 
"  there  will  be  neither  sorrow  nor  blame,  if  you  love 
me.  I  will  endure  all  that  can  arise  from  the  fulfil- 
ment of  that  beautiful  dream.  Be  mine,  Beatrice, 
and  my  destiny  will  be  happiness  and  honor  !  " 

"  Victor,"  said  Beatrice,  "  your  words  are  strange 
and  dark,  and  I  know  not  what  terrible  mystery  is 
involved  in  the  language  you  hold.  Some  fatal  influ- 
ence is  at  work  to  bewilder  your  perception  of  truth 
and  justice.  Bid  the  tempter  depart ! "  she  con- 
tinued, rising,  as  she  spoke,  with  an  air  of  dignity  and 
self-possession  that  a  noble  resolution  could  alone  have 
inspired  at  such  a  moment.  "  Be  yourself,  Victor,  as 
I  once  knew  you  before  a  delusive  passion  obscured 
your  judgment,  and  happiness  and  honor  will  more 
surely  be  yours  than  if  this  baseless  vision  had  been 
realized." 

"  You  cast  me  from  you,  then  ? "  said  Victor, 
rising  and  folding  his  arms  over  his  breast,  as  if  to 
still  the  wild  throbbings  of  the  rebellious  heart  within, 
while  his  manner  became  as  lofty  as  her  own. 

"  Thos6  harsh  words  are  yours,  not  mine,  Victor," 
said  Beatrice,  her  eyes  filling  with  teal's  as  she  spoke. 
"  My  feelings  for  you  are  unchanged.  I  would  be,  as 
I  have  ever  been  to  you,  a  sister.  You  well  know 
that  all  you  demand  farther  than  this,  is  given  to 
another." 

"  Your  hand  I  know  is  promised  by  your  father," 
said  Victor,  "  but  your  heart " — 

"Was  won  before  that  promise  was  made," 
said  Beatrice,  blushing  deeply,  while  the  words  fal- 


THE   CONFESSION.  215 

tered  on  her  lips,  "  and  that  promise  will  be  fulfilled 
with  my  own  consent." 

"  Then  is  the  bright  dream  indeed  dispelled  ! " 
said  Victor,  while  a  mortal  paleness  overspread  his 
features.  "The  vexed  spirit  is  banished,  and  will 
never  more  haunt  you.  Farewell !  "  «* 

He  turned,  and  before  she  could  reply  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE     CARNIVAL. 

THE  last  day  of  the  carnival  had  arrived.  The 
mammoth  ox,  garlanded  with  flowers,  preceded  by  a 
band  of  music,  and  followed  by  a  car  which  might 
have  passed  for  that  of  the  goddess  of  reason  and  her 
satellites,  judging  from  the  group  within  it,  had  passed 
through  every  quarter  of  the  metropolis,  and  had  at 
last  laid  down  his  life  literally,  as  other  great  actors 
do  figuratively,  for  the  amusement  of  the  admiring 
crowd. 

His  eager  followers,  who  had  anticipated  the  catas- 
trophe, as  do  the  hungry  heirs  of  a  miser,  when  the 
hoards  of  gold  they  have  watched  and  worshipped 
are  about  to  be  distributed,  claimed  and  received 
their  portions  of  his  spoils  the  more  eagerly,  because 
this  one  day  of  riotous  enjoyment  was  to  sum  up 
their  pleasures  and  give  them  one  prize  against  forty 
blanks,  while  with  many  of  the  bustling  throng  the 
feast  was  only  an  annual  one,  and  its  rarity  enhanced 
their  anxiety  to  partake  of  it. 

The  Boulevards  and  the  Champs  Elys6es  presented 
a  curious  spectacle  in  the  slowly  moving  files  of  car- 


THE  CARNIVAL.  217 

riages  of  every  description,  some  filled  with  revellers 
in  grotesque  masks  with  noses  of  preposterous  length, 
women  covered  with  paint,  patches  and  ribbons, 
children  in  wigs,  and  girls  in  regimentals  and  epau- 
lettes, boys  and  girls  alike  disguised  en  pierrot,  with 
faces  plastered  with  flour,  and  in  their*-  high-pointed 
white  caps  and  white  dresses,  looking  like  the  ghosts 
of  the  carnival  gliding  about  in  anticipation  of  its 
speedy  demise. 

The  maskers,  who  ventured  on  foot  among  the 
dense  masses  that  crowded  the  sides  of  the  streets, 
were  often  received  with  shouts  of  derision,  and  occa- 
sionally something  more  substantial  than  sugar  plums 
found  a  place  in  the  showers  hurled  at  them  by  their 
companions  in  this  rude  pastime. 

The  gens  d'armes,  stationed  at  intervals  along  the 
streets,  received  maledictions  both  loud  and  deep, 
when  some  obstruction  of  the  passage  rendered  their 
interference  necessary,  and  occasionally  a  drawn  sword 
was  seen  flashing  over  the  heads  of  the  multitude. 
Still  the  mighty  mass  moved  on,  and  if  accidents  oc- 
curred, they  were  soon  forgotten  in  the  tumultuous 
excitement  of  the  scene  and  the  day. 

The  Princess  V.  had  made  every  exertion  to 
secure  an  earlier  day  than  mardi  gras  for  her  fancy 
ball,  which  was  to  unite  all  that  art  could  invent  or 
luxury  display ;  for  this  day  of  universal  riot  was  one 
of  such  incessant  commotion  among  the  lower  classes, 
as  to  make  it  particularly  unsuitable  for  her  purpose. 
But  other  fetes  had  claimed  the  precedence  over  hers, 
and  she  had  been  compelled  to  avail  herself  of  the 
last  day  of  the  carnival  for  her  splendid  entertainment. 
10 


218  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

Couturieres  and  modistes,  plumassiers  and  fleurists, 
jewellers  and  embroiderers  had  plied  their  busy  hands 
for  a  month  past  in  preparing  the  varied  and  magnifi- 
cent costumes  which  were  to  grace  the  occasion. 
How  many  pale  artists  were  toiling  daily  and  nightly 
at  their  sickly  trade  for  a  scanty  subsistence,  ill  paid 
for  their  labors,  or  alas !  too  often  not  paid  at  all, 
while  decorating  the  glittering  robes  that  were  to 
cover  many  an  aching  heart!  What  anxiety  was 
suffered  by  the  elegant  hostess  and  her  elegant  guests, 
while  preparations  were  in  progress,  on  both  sides,  for 
entertaining  and  being  entertained !  What  vexations 
and  disappointments  had  to  be  endured  from  faithless 
"paroles  cfrhonneur,"  or  soothing  exhortations  to  be 
"  tranquille "  under  the  heart-rending  failure  of  an 
unfinished  piece  of  embroidery  or  an  incomplete 

costume ! 

All  these  whirlpools  and  quicksands  had  been 
escaped  by  the  happy  mariners  who  remained  quietly 
in  port,  while  the  storm  of  gayety  was  thus  raging 
furiously  without. 

The  young  friends  of  Constance,  some  of  whom 
had  shared  in  the  bitterness  of  disappointment  from 
faithless  promises,  and  were  compelled  to  content 
themselves  with  a  simpler  costume  than  the  one  they 
had  fancied  and  ordered,  secretly  commended  her 
choice  in  giving  up  the  anticipated  fete,  and  could 
not  help  admiring  an  example,  which  they  had  not  re- 
solution enough  to  follow. 

The  sacrifice  made  by  Constance,  hi  dedicating  her 
costume  to  the  relief  of  the  unfortunate  Antoine  and 
his  family,  had  lost  in  her  eyes  whatever  of  merit  it 


THE  CARNIVAL.  219 

might  have  claimed,  as  the  enthusiasm  of  Madame 
Laval  had  induced  her  to  speak  of  it  to  all  her  ac- 
quaintance, notwithstanding  the  entreaties  of  her 
pupil  to  preserve  silence  on  the  subject,  when  her 
seeming  caprice  in  declining  the  invitation  to  the 
fancy  ball  should  be  mentioned. 

To  indemnify  her  for  her  disappointment,  which 
her  friends  imagined  much  more  severe  than  it  really 
was,  they  promised  to  call,  on  their  way  to  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  Princess  V.,  to  show  her  the  effect 
of  the  splendid  costumes  they  had  selected,  before 
they  should  be  merged  in  the  glittering  crowd  as- 
sembled at  the  fancy  ball. 

Mrs.  Melville  and  her  daughter,  on  this  eventful 
evening,  when  the  whole  metropolis  presented  a  scene 
of  universal  and  uproarious  gayety,  were  quietly  seat- 
ed in  an  elegantly  furnished  parlor.  A  wood  fire  as 
bright,  though  not  so  ample,  as  those  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  at  this  season  when  they  were  hi  their 
own  loved  home,  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and  the 
room  was  abundantly  illuminated  with  wax  lights  to 
give  the  full  effect  of  the  expected  costumes. 

Constance  was  trying,  for  the  first  time,  the  keys 
of  a  new  and  exquisite  pianoforte  which  Mr.  Mel- 
ville had  ordered  for  her  on  their  arrival  in  the  me- 
tropolis, and  which  he  had  purposely  directed  to  be 
brought  in  on  this  day,  that  the  evening  which  he 
supposed  his  daughter  might  have  looked  forward  to 
as  one  of  regret  and  disappointment,  should  be  dis- 
tinguished by  a  pure  and  rational,  as  well  as  an  un- 
usual, degree  of  enjoyment. 

The  beautiful  instrument  responded  well  to  the 


220  HOME   AND  THE   WORLD. 

fairy  fingers  that  flew  over  its  keys.  The  crescendo 
and  diminuendo  rose  and  fell  with  the  power  and 
sweetness  of  the  human  voice.  The  higher  notes 
were  flute-like, — the  deep  chords  of  the  bass  re- 
sembled those  of  the  church  organ.  It  was  tried,  in 
every  variety  of  music,  by  the  happy  young  possessor 
of  the  long-coveted  treasure.  "  From  grave  to  gay, 
from  lively  to  severe,"  composer  followed  composer, 
and  the  magical  instrument  seemed  to  have  been 
made  expressly  for  every  different  style. 

"  Those  new  variations  are  brilliant  and  striking," 
said  Mrs.  Melville,  as  Constance  concluded  a  favorite 
piece ;  "  but  there  is  something  in  the  air  that  awakens 
old  memories  and  associations  in  my  mind.  I  think 
I  have  heard  it  before." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  Constance  laughing, 
"though  you  would  be  unwilling,  notwithstanding 
your  modest  dread  of  appearing  more  youthful  than 
you  really  are,  to  be  considered  a  contemporary  of  the 
ancient  author.  Beethoven  and  Mozart  are  as  palpa- 
bly copied  by  modern  composers  as  Dante  was  by 
Milton ;  but  like  the  great  poet,  they  have  often  im- 
proved so  much  upon  the  original  that  it  would  be 
unjust  to  call  them  plagiarists.  How  I  wish  Evelyn 
was  here,"  she  continued,  uto  play  this  charming 
duet  with  me!  she  would  enjoy  my  new  piano  as 
much  as  I  do." 

"  I  should  be  only  too  happy  if  your  wish  could  be 
realized,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  though  we 
must  wait  some  months  longer  for  the  pleasure  we 
anticipate  in  welcoming  back  our  loved  absentees. 
Vivian  and  Evelyn,  judging  from  the  letters  we  re- 


THE  CARNIVAL.  221 

ceived  this  morning,  are  highly  amused  with  the 
Neapolitan  carnival,  which,  from  all  accounts,  is  much 
more  interesting  than  it  is  here.  But  the  bell  an- 
nounces our  costumes.  Who  comes  first  ?  " 

The  question  was  answered  by  the  triumphal  en- 
trance of  the  white-plumed  Henry  of  Navarre,  ar- 
rayed in  regal  splendor,  and  supporting  on  his  arm  a 
Peruvian  princess  of  rare  beauty.  Her  dress  was  so 
artistically  and  completely  adorned  with  brilliantly 
colored  feathers,  that  she  looked  like  some  tropical 
bird  just  ready  to  take  wing.  Her  rich  black  hair 
floated  loosely  over  her  shoulders,  and  was  adorned, 
as  well  as  her  neck,  arms,  and  ankles,  with  a  profusion 
of  massive  gold  ornaments,  such  as  an  Indian  princess 
might  be  supposed  to  possess. 

Hardly  had  this  pair  received  their  well-deserved 
tribute  of  admiration,  when  a  lady  entered  dressed 
as  a  Turkish  sultana.  The  gold  tissue  of  her  robe, 
tho  rich  colors  of  the  grotesque  figures  embroidered 
on  it,  resembling  gems  rather  than  silk,  the  costly 
jewels,  and  above  ah1  the  miniature  of  the  sultan  sur- 
rounded by  diamonds,  which  she  wore  as  a  noble 
would  wear  an  order,  attested  her  rank.  Her  young 
nephew,  arrayed  in  barbaric  pomp,  with  his  face 
painted  black,  followed  her  as  an  Eastern  slave, 
carrying  a  plateau,  on  which  were  piled  a  large  num- 
ber of  Persian  curiosities,  to  be  distributed  among 
the  friends  of  the  charming  sultana.  Well  she  became 
the  character  she  personated ;  for  though'  a  Greek  by 
birth,  the  sultan  would  have  been  too  happy  to  see 
her  fair  round  form  and  splendid  oriental  eyes  among 
his  Turkish  beauties. 


222  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

Next  came  the  Berg&res  Pompadours,  attended 
by  several  young  marquis',  attired  in  the  graceful 
though  pompously  elaborate  dress  of  the  Louis  Quinze 
style.  A  slight,  very  slight,  sigh  escaped  the  lips  of 
Constance,  as  she  looked  admiringly  at  these  youthful 
beauties.  Was  it  for  her  own  disappointment  ?  or 
that  the  embroidered  velvet  coats  and  point  lace  ruf- 
fles reminded  her  that  she  had  been  instrumental, 
though  innocently,  in  depriving  Reginald  of  the  plea- 
sure he  might  have  enjoyed  in  the  brilliant  scene 
where  they  were  to  be  displayed.  But  the  feeling 
was  momentary,  and  she  blushed  at  the  thought  of 
attributing  such  weakness  to  him,  when  she  found  it 
so  easy  to  console  herself. 

Her  reflections,  if  such  transient  thoughts  could  be 
dignified  with  the  name,  were  interrupted  by  the  de- 
parture of  the  first  costum6s,  who  were  impatient  to 
appear  on  the  scene  of  their  anticipated  triumphs,  and 
the  entrance  of  two  more,  attired  as  were  the  Ber- 
geres  Pompadours,  in  a  style  half-regal,  half-peasant, 
— the  picturesque  dress  of  Spanish  contrabandiers. 

Madame  de  St.  Clair,  in  this  gay  and  becoming 
costume,  looked  many  years  younger  than  she  really 
was.  She  was  accompanied  by  a  handsome  young 
man,  whose  dark  moustache  and  complexion  accorded 
well  with  his  brilliant  and  striking  dress,  and  whom 
she  presented  to  Mrs.  Melville  and  her  daughter. 

"  The  Viscomte  Alvares,"  she  said,  "  has  been  un- 
fortunately compelled  to  delay  his  visit  to  the  metro- 
polis until  the  very  last  day  of  our  gay  season.  I  fear 
the  specimen  we  are  about  to  show  him  of  our  elegant 
society  this  evening,  will  only  increase  his  regret  for 
what  he  has  lost." 


THE   CARNIVAL.  223 

<c  You  are  mistaken,  fair  contrabandista,"  said  the 
young  vicomte,  fixing  his  dark  eyes  on  the  face  of 
Constance,  who  blushed  deeply  at  his  assured  look  of 
admiration.  "You  are  quite  mistaken.  There  are 
charms  in  this  great  metropolis  independent  of  revelry 
and  masquerades." 

Constance  felt  pained  and  offended  by  the  broad 
flattery  of  his  words,  and  the  bold  look  that  accom- 
panied them.  But  there  was  nothing  in  either  that 
she  could  with  propriety  resent.  Madame  de  St.  Clair 
perceived  her  embarrassment,  and  came  to  her  relief. 

"  Your  remark  is  just,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  but  as 
our  society  is  constituted  here,  charms  must  be  fully 
matured  before  their  value  is  entirely  appreciated. 
Miss  Melville  will  become  better  acquainted  with 
the  power  of  hers,  when  she  claims  the  title  of 
madame." 

The  Vicomte  Alvares  turned  his  eyes  from  the 
face  of  Constance  to  that  of  Madame  de  St.  Clair. 
There  was  an  expression  in  them  half  comic,  half  ironi- 
cal, as  he  replied,  "  Yes,  I  learn  that  in  Parisian  so- 
ciety young  ladies  of  sixteen  are  infants,  and  mothers 
are — no  mothers  at  all.  But  what  have  I  said,  ma- 
dame,  that  makes  you  blush  so  furiously  ?  One  would 
suppose  that  the  circumstances  I  mention  were  appli- 
cable to  yourself,  if  your  youth  and  beauty  did  not 
preclude  such  an  idea." 

"  You  seem  to  have  made  a  vocation  of  raising 
blushes  on  fair  cheeks  this  evening,"  said  Madame  de 
St.  Clair,  affecting  to  laugh,  and  apparently  suspi- 
cious of  some  covert  meaning  in  his  words,  though 
flattered  by  the  compliment  to  her  youth  and  beauty. 


224  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

"  Your  ladies  of  the  court  of  Madrid  must  be  accus- 
tomed to  language  more  flattering  than  ours." 

"When  the  jealous  grille  and  the  envious  mantilla 
permit,  we  are  accustomed  to  devour  with  our  eyes 
the  charms  we  only  dare  celebrate  in  our  serenades," 
said  the  vicomte,  again  turning  a  look  of  undisguised 
admiration  upon  Constance.  "  But  why  should  youth 
and  beauty  be  excluded  from  participation  in  the  en- 
joyment of  pleasures  more  suited  to  their  years  than  to 
those  of  persons  of  maturer  age  ?  Is  there  not  some  dan- 
ger that  if  they  are  too  much  restrained,  they  may  end 
by  escaping  from  all  bounds  ?  Since  my  brief  sojourn 
here,  I  have  been  informed  that  there  is  a  person 
now  in  this  city  calling  himself  the  Chevalier  Krimi- 
nelski,  who,  though  he  has  never  been  seen  in  polite 
society,  has  rendered  himself  as  celebrated  as  Don 
Giovanni, — that  he  has  carried  off  no  less  than  three 
young  damsels,  who  were  detained,  as  they  considered 
it,  in  '  durance  vile '  by  fashionable  mothers  and  gov- 
ernantes.  They  have  thus  wisely  exchanged  Scylla 
for  Charybdis,  or  as  your  English  author  elegantly 
translates  Le  Sage  in  the  Spanish  story,  the  scene  of 
which  we  may  at  least  claim  as  ours,  they  have 
t  jumped  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire.'  " 

During  this  speech,  Madame  de  St.  Clair  had 
looked  furtively  and  uneasily  at  Mrs.  Melville  and 
Constance,  and  again  at  the  Vicomte  Alvares  as  if 
to  assure  herself  that  his  remarks  were  not  designed 
to  apply  to  her,  as  well  as  to  observe  the  impression 
made  by  his  words. 

"  In  such  events,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  endeavoring 
to  withdraw  the  attention  of  the  vicomte  from  Ma- 


THE  CARNIVAL.  225 

dame  de  St.  Clair,  as  she  perceived  the  unpleasant 
feelings  apparently  excited  by  his  remarks,  "  it  would 
be  difficult  to  decide  which  should  be  most  com- 
miserated— the  unhappy  victims  of  this  often-repeated 
treachery,  or  the  bereaved  parents." 

"Oh,  as  to  the  bereaved  parents,"  said  the  vi- 
comte  laughing,  and  glancing  maliciously  at  Madame 
de  St.  Clair,  "  it  might  in  some  instances  be  a  relief. 
But  I  understand  they  do  not  grieve  hopelessly,  or  in- 
deed a  very  long  tune,  on  account  of  the  bereavement, 
for  the  Chevalier  Kriminelski  always  takes  care  to 
bring  the  damsels  back  again  to  their  loving  parents, 
who  are  doubtless  overjoyed  to  receive  them  after  an 
absence  so  unusual  and  so  unexpected." 

"  You  have  selected  a  singularly  unpleasant  sub- 
ject for  a  jest,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  Alvares,"  said 
Madame  de  St.  Clair,  with  a  lowering  brow,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  anger.  "  Our  so- 
ciety will  be  little  obliged  by  a  repetition  of  anecdotes 
which  reflect  the  deepest  humiliation  and  degradation 
upon  it.  If  our  fashionable  mothers  do  not  affect 
a  tenderness  for  their  daughters,  which  might  be 
deemed  pretty  and  becoming,  they  have  at  least 
pride  enough  to  save  themselves  from  disgrace." 

The  vicomte  either  did  not,  or  affected  not  to 
notice  this  rebuke.  He  rose  and  walked  to  the  piano 
near  which  Constance  was  seated.  Carelessly  run- 
ning one  hand  over  the  keys  with  a  skill  and  grace 
that  showed  a  perfect  mastery  of  the  instrument,  he 
took  a  sheet  of  music  from  the  stand. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  duet,"  he  said,  humming  the  air, 


10* 


226  HOME  AND   THE  WORLD. 

"  have  you  tried  it  yet  ?  pray  allow  me  the  honor  of 
playing  it  with  you." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Constance,  unwilling  to  en- 
courage such  familiarity  in  a  stranger,  "  I  have  never 
played  it,  and  I  should  probably  embarrass  you  by 
making  some  mistake  in  the  tune." 

"  Oh,  never  fear,"  he  replied,  "  that  would  only 
make  our  performance  more  amusing ;  it  would  give 
us  something  to  laugh  at.  Let  me  beg," — and  he 
offered  to  take  her  hand  to  lead  her  to  the  piano. 
But  Constance  declined  resolutely,  and  determined,  at 
the  earliest  moment  allowed  her,  to  escape  from  his 
persevering  attentions  by  making  an  excuse  to  leave 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Melville,  who  relished  the  familiar  ease  of  the 
vicomte  as  little  as  did  her  daughter,  anticipated  her 
wish  by  a  request  that  she  would  go  in  search  of  some 
materials  for  the  continuation  of  a  piece  of  tapestry, 
the  convenient  parlor  apology  for  work,  that  was  lying 
on  a  table  near  her. 

Too  happy  to  avail  herself  of  her  mother's  sugges- 
tion, Constance  was  gliding  from  the  room,  when  to 
her  surprise  the  Vicomte  Alvares  intercepted  her  re- 
treat by  placing  himself  suddenly  before  the  door 
through  which  she  was  about  to  make  her  escape. 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Melville,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  I  perceive  that  I  have  unintentionally  offended  you. 
Let  me  pray  you  not  to  be  so  cruel  as  to  leave  us.  I 
entreat, — I  implore, — thus  humbly." 

To  the  increased  astonishment  of  Constance,  he 
threw  himself  on  one  knee,  and  folded  his  arms  over 
his  breast,  looking  up  at  her  with  a  devotion  more 


THE   CAENIVAL.  227 

appropriate  for  a  worshipper  of  the  virgin  in  a  Spanish 
cathedral  than  that  of  one  mere  mortal  to  another. 
The  effect  was  so  ridiculous,  that  Constance,  notwith- 
standing her  vexation,  could  not  help  langhing.  But 
the  doorway  was  effectually  barred,  and  she  was  com- 
pelled to  return  to  her  seat. 

"  As  you  will  not  consent  to  do  any  thing  for  my 
amusement,"  said  the  vicomte,  following  her,  "per- 
mit me,  at  least,  to  contribute  to  yours.  I  perceive, 
among  those  pieces  of  music,  a  pretty  Spanish  dance, 
one  of  the  forty  most  celebrated  of  those  gayest  and 
most  charming  ones  that  are  the  delight  of  Andalusia. 
May  I  beg  the  favor  of  you  to  play  it,  and  with  Ma- 
dame de  St.  Clair  as  my  partner,  I  will  dance  it 
for  you." 

"  Most  willingly,"  said  Constance,  seating  herself 
at  the  piano,  and  happy  that  any  compromise  was 
proposed.  "  But  will  Madame  de  St.  Clair  agree  to 
oblige  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  will  not  give  her  much  trouble,"  replied 
the  vicomte,  "  as  I  shall  be  the  chief  performer.  She 
will  hardly  have  to  dance  at  all.  She  will  only  receive 
with  becoming  grace  and  empressement  the  attentions 
bestowed  on  her  by  her  cavalier." 

As  he  spoke,  he  produced  a  pair  of  castanets  from 
the  folds  of  the  crimson  silk  scarf  that  was  twisted 
around  his  waist,  and  marked  the  time  with  them,  as 
Constance  played  over  the  dance  he  had  selected. 

"  Excellent ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Your  touch  is  per- 
fection !  I  rejoice  that  the  piano  is  placed  in  such  a 
position  that  you  can  enjoy  our  dance,  for  I  assure 
you  that  you  will  pronounce  it  well  worth  looking  at." 


228  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

The  prediction  of  the  Vicomte  Alvares  was  fully 
verified,  for  the  dance  was  graceful  and  animated,  and 
he  executed  his  part  of  it  with  the  skill  and  agility  of 
an  opera  dancer.  Now  springing  from  side  to  side, 
now  wheeling  around  the  lady  to  whom  his  gestures 
of  admiration  and  devotion  were  designed  by  the 
figure  of  the  dance  to  be  addressed,  with  the  motion 
of  a  bird  on  the  wing,  then  kneeling  before  her,  throw- 
ing up  his  arms,  and  swaying  to  and  fro,  while  the 
merry  castanets,  in  perfect  accordance  with  the  music, 
added  their  inspiring  accompaniment  to  it. 

As  the  dance  drew  to  its  conclusion,  just  at  the 
final  bar,  the  cavalier  completed  his  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment, to  the  dismay  of  Constance,  by  suddenly 
throwing  his  arm  round  Madame  de  St.  Clair's  waist, 
and  then  drawing  her  to  him,  he  pressed  his  mous- 
tached  lip  to  her  cheek,  and  as  an  echo  to  the  last 
chord,  plumped  a  resounding  and  unequivocal  kiss  on 
her  lips ! 

Constance  started  from  her  chair  in  amazement 
and  disgust,  and  Mrs.  Melville,  seriously  offended  at 
such  a  daring  infringement  on  all  the  rules  of  good 
manners  as  well  as  good  morals,  was  about  to  express 
her  decided  disapprobation  of  the  unwarrantable  con- 
duct of  the  vicomte,  when  Madame  de  St.  Clair 
laughingly  extricated  herself  from  the  embrace. 

"  Come ! "  she  said,  "  this  is  indeed  carrying  the 
jest  too  far.  I  shall  be  compelled  to  explain  it,  as  I 
perceive  that  Mrs.  Melville  is  really  vexed  by  your 
nonsense.  You  will  not,  I  trust,"  she  continued,  ad- 
dressing herself  to  that  lady,  "  condemn  me  entirely 


THE  CARNIVAL.  229 

when  I  assure  you  that  the  Vicomte  Alvares  is  no 
other  than — Almeria  Belmont." 

Mrs.  Melville  and  Constance  could  hardly  believe 
the  evidence  of  their  senses,  so  perfect  had  been  the 
disguise,  so  perfectly  had  the  assumed  character  been 
represented.  Mrs.  Melville  still  indulged  a  secret  sus- 
picion that  the  character  of  Almeria  was  the  feigned, 
and  that  of  the  Vicomte  Alvares  the  real,  one. 

Their  doubts  were  resolved  by  the  entrance  of  a 
servant  with  a  card. 

"Mr.  Reginald  Villiers — at  home? — Certainly," 
said  Mrs.  Melville.  "  Ask  him  to  walk  up." 

The  pretended  vicomte  turned  deadly  pale,  and 
trembled  with  such  visible  agitation,  that  the  woman 
was  seen  at  once  beneath  her  masculine  disguise. 

"  Oh,  heavens !  "  she  exclaimed,  seizing  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville's hand,  "  do  not,  I  entreat  you,  dear  madam,  do 
not  betray  me !  I  know  well  the  horror  I  should  in- 
spire, if  Mr.  Villiers  were  to  recognize  me  in  this  un- 
ferninine  disguise.  Promise  me,  oh!  promise  me," 
she  said  wildly,  and  appealing  alternately  to  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville and  Constance,  "  that  you  will  not  betray  me ! " 

"  On  one  condition,"  said  Mrs.  Melville. 

"  Any  condition !  "  exclaimed  Almeria. 

"  Well,  my  condition  is  that  you  return  home  and 
substitute  some  other  costume  for  this  one  so  entirely 
foreign  to  every  idea  of  womanly  propriety.  Trust 
me,  my  dear  Miss  Belmont,  you  were  about  to  make 
a  sad  mistake  in  giving  such  a  theme  for  the  tongue 
of  scandal." 

"Most  gladly  do  I  accept  the  terms,"  said  Al- 
meria, "  and  I  leave  Madame  de  St.  Clair  as  a  hostage 


230  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

for  their  fulfilment,  while  I  return  home  for  the  pur- 
pose. The  metamorphosis  shall  be  effected,  and  I  can 
return  within  an  hour." 

Distasteful  as  the  proposition  was  to  Madame  de 
St.  Clair,  there  was  no  alternative,  for  the  arrange- 
ments had  been  made  by  Almeria,  and  the  equi- 
page, which  served  them  both  for  the  occasion,  was 
hers. 

Reginald  entered,  as  the  pretended  Yicomte  Al- 
vares  bowed  himself  out.  The  deceit  was  quite  as 
successful  as  it  had  been  with  Mrs.  Melville  and  Con- 
stance. Reginald  only  returned  with  civility  the  bow 
of  the  young  coxcomb,  as  he  supposed  him,  and  be- 
stowed not  another  thought  upon  him. 

Music  and  conversation  filled  up  the  hour  of  Al- 
meria's  absence  so  pleasantly,  that  even  Madame  de 
St.  Clair  was  surprised  when  the  bell  announced  her 
return. 

To  assure  Mrs.  Melville  of  her  good  faith,  Almeria 
did  not  content  herself  with  sending  up  a  messenger 
to  her  friend,  but  came  in  person  to  the  parlor  to 
seek  her. 

The  dress  for  which  she  had  exchanged  her  bril- 
liant Spanish  costume,  if  less  becoming,  was  still  more 
rich,  and  certainly  far  more  appropriate  to  her  sex. 
The  guise  of  a  fortune-teller,  which  she  had  adopted, 
admitted  of  any  and  every  ornament,  provided  sym- 
bols of  magical  art  were  used  to  a  sufficient  extent 
in  its  decorations,  and  these  had  not  been  spared. 
Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  and  all  that  was  odd  or  mys- 
terious, had  been  exhausted  on  it,  and  the  costume,  in 
its  way,  was  quite  as  perfect  as  the  one  she  had  first 


THE  CARNIVAL.  231 

appeared  in,  for  several  had  been  successfully  tried 
before  the  eventful  evening  arrived. 

Reginald  joined  hi  the  commendations  bestowed 
upon  the  felicitous  choice  of  her  costume.  Almeria 
thanked  him  with  gentle  timidity  for  the  compliment 
he  paid  to  her  taste. 

"  I  am  so  much  indebted  to  you,"  she  said,  "  for 
this  amiable  commendation,  that  I  will  reward  you 
for  it.n 

With  the  golden  wand,  the  sceptre  of  her  magic 
power,  she  drew  a  charmed  imaginary  circle  around 
him. 

"  You  are  now,"  she  continued,  "  within  the  influ- 
ence of  my  spells.  Beware  how  you  attempt  to  break 
through  them,  lest  some  mischief  befall  you. 

1 1  charm  thy  life 
From  the  weapons  of  strife, 
From  stone  and  from  wood, 
From  fire  and  from  flood, 
From  the  serpent's  tooth, 
And  the  beast  of  blood ! ' " 

Reginald  caught  the  end  of  the  golden  wand  as 
it  was  again  circling  around  him. 

"  I  cannot  permit  you  to  finish  your  incantation," 
he  said,  "  lest  your  magical  charm  which  begins  with 
the  fairest  promise,  should  terminate  with  the  direst 
malediction  that  the  fertile  brain  of  a  poet  ever 
imagined.  I  hope  you  are  content,  as  I  am,  to  leave 
it  as  it  is." 

The  lateness  of  the  hour  warned  him,  as  well  as 
the  costumes,  that  mardi  gras  was  drawing  to  a  close, 


232  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

and  that  it  was  time  to  depart.  When  the  morning 
of  Ash  Wednesday  arrived,  it  may  be  surmised  who, 
if  they  thought  an  apology  for  the  omission  neces- 
sary, had  headaches  to  plead  as  a  reason  for  their 
absence  from  the  church  services,  and  who  had  not. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LONGCHAMPS. 

THE  abbey  founded  by  Isabella  of  France,  sister 
of  St.  Louis,  has  long  since  been  numbered  among 
the  legendary  places  of  the  past.  The  melodious 
voices  of  its  nuns,  the  chief  attraction  to  the  splendid 
and  fashionable  visitors  who  resorted  to  it  in  the  days 
of  Passion  Week,  when  they  chanted  the  lamentations 
and  the  tenebrce,  have  long  since  been  hushed  in  the 
deep  stillness  that  will  never  more  be  awakened  by 
them,  and  the  places  "  that  knew  them,  now  know 
them  no  more." 

•  The  abbey  itself  has  crumbled  into  dust,  and 
strangers  are  naturally  led  to  inquire  the  meaning  of 
the  long  and  glittering  files  of  elegant  equipages  that 
are  still  seen,  at  the  same  period  of  the  year,  wending 
their  way  through  the  Champs  Elysees  and  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  to  the  spot,  where  once  the  sweet  voices 
were  heard  resounding,  in  sacred  song,  in  the  chapel 
of  the  abbey. 

The  very  name  of  Longchamp,  once  exclusively 
appropriated  to  the  abbey,  has  changed  its  signifi- 
cation, for  instead  of  being  recognized  as  the  object 


234  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

of  a  religious  procession,  the  annual  visit  to  the  spot 
is  now  anticipated  by  the  rich  and  fashionable  only 
as  the  first  ga*y  promenade  of  the  early  spring,  when 
new  vehicles,  new  liveries,  new  horses,  and  new 
dresses  can  be  displayed  to  the  greatest  advantage, 
and  in  brilliant  and  never-ending  rivalry. 

The  severity  of  the  winter,  unprecedented  as  it 
had  been,  was  now  felt  no  more.  Spring  was  advan- 
cing, and  the  eager  expectants  of  their  promised  dis- 
play were  gratified  by  a  few  soft  sunny  days,  which 
seemed  to  come  with  their  balmy  influences  to  banish 
all  remembrance  of  the  "blackness  of  darkness," 
which  had  reigned  with  undisputed  sway  over  the 
past  season. 

Long  files  of  new  and  splendid  equipages  were 
seen  advancing  on  one  side  of  the  Champs  fiiysees 
and  returning  on  the  other ;  while  the  royal  cortege 
was  dashing  through  the  centre,  followed  by  that  of 
the  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  gay  scarlet  and  gold-laced 
liveries  of  his  numerous  attendants  flaming  in  the  sun- 
light ;  and  these  succeeded  by  ambassadors  and  min- 
isters, home  and  foreign,  among  the  latter  Russia, 
Austria,  and  Prussia,  distinguished  by  their  chasseurs 
with  the  idealized  hunting  costume,  arrayed  in  green 
and  gold,  with  waving  forests  of  green  plumes  rising 
high  above  the  caliches  they  ornamented  rather  than 
attended. 

The  scene  was  one  of  enjoyment  to  observers  and 
observed,  for  nature  and  art  seemed  combined  to 
render  it  pleasing  to  both.  The  warmth  of  the  sun 
had  brought  out  all  that  was  new  and  recherche  in 
spring  costumes,  and  the  open  caliches  and  elegantly 


LONGCHAMPS.  235 

dressed  ladies  formed  not  the  least  part  of  the  at- 
traction. 

Among  these  caliches  was  one  which  challenged 
special  admiration,  from  its  costly  splendor  and  the 
richness  of  the  attire  of  two  ladies  reclining  in  it. 
The  profusion  of  furs  and  cachemeres  of  inestimable 
value,  that  were  negligently  thrown  on  the  front  seat, 
were  sufficient  to  attest  the  wealth  of  the  owners  of 
the  caliche,  even  if  the  superb  English  horses,  and 
rich  decorations  of  the  vehicle  had  not  announced  it. 
The  equipage  was  known  at  once  from  its  unusual 
magnificence,  as  that  of  a  millionaire, — the  two  ladies 
within  it  were  Almeria  Belmont,  and  Madame  de  St. 
Clair. 

"  Who  was  that  handsome  man  you  bowed  to  just 
now,  Almeria  ?  "  inquired  Madame  de  St.  Clair.  "  He 
is  certainly  an  Englishman,  if  I  have  any  talent  in 
divination." 

"I  can  inform  you  without  having  recourse  to 
sorcery,"  replied  Almeria,  "  though  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  exercise  some  of  mine  upon  him.  I  was  intro- 
duced to  him  last  evening  at  Lady  Augusta's  soiree. 
Pie  is  her  nephew — Captain  Delamere." 

"  Your  sorcery  will  be  well  employed,"  said  Mad- 
ame de  St.  Clair,  "  if  his  exterior  is  an  index  to  the 
man.  I  should  read  more  books  than  I  do,  if  they 
all  had  one  as  promising." 

"  Fair  as  the  index  may  be,"  returned  Almeria,  "  I 
have  no  wish  to  read  the  book  farther  than  may  suit 
my  purpose.  But  I  made  some  discoveries  last  even- 
ing, that  I  think  I  can  turn  to  my  own  account.  Can 
you  keep  a  secret  ? "  she  added,  suddenly  turning 


236  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

her  penetrating  eyes  upon  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  "  No, 
of  course  not." 

"  Certainly  I  can,"  said  Madame  de  St.  Clair, 
"  when  it  suits  my  purpose,  as  you  just  now  wisely 
remarked." 

"  I  shall  not  trust  any  woman  with  mine,  farther 
than  I  can  help  it,"  said  Almeria,  "  and  probably  I 
shall  have  no  reason  to  ask  the  exercise  of  your  dis- 
cretion. I  have  only  to  request  you  as  a  very  special 
favor,  if  you  should  receive  a  letter  from  me  to- 
morrow, to  burn  it  without  looking  at  its  contents." 

"  Impossible !  my  dear  friend,"  replied  Madame 
de  St.  Clair,  "  utterly  impossible  !  ask  any  thing  else. 
But  the  idea  of  burning  one  of  your  charming  epis- 
tles, especially  with  the  seal  unbroken,  and  worst  of 
all,  containing  a  secret  that  I  am  not  to  know !  Why, 
you  may  as  well  ask  me  to  stay  at  home  every  day 
of  Longchamps, — or  go  to  church  instead — or  in 
short,  to  do  any  similar  absurdity.  Oh  no  !  I  cannot 
consent." 

"  Then,"  said  Almeria,  musingly,  "  I  must  look 
out  for  some  more  obliging  friend." 

She  took  off  her  glove  at  that  moment,  and  a  dia- 
mond ring  threw  its  prismatic  colors,  as  they  caught  a 
sunbeam,  full  into  the  eyes  of  Madame  de  St.  Clair. 

"  I  can  certainly  find  a  friend  who  will  oblige  me 
in  such  a  trifle,  especially  if  I  make  this  ring,  as  I 
intend  to  do,  seal  our  compact." 

"  Perhaps  on  such  a  condition  I  might  be  tempted 
myself,"  said  Madame  de  St.  Clair.  "The  secret 
must  be  worth  keeping,  if  it  has  a  seal  of  so  much 
value ;  an  adamantine  one  can  certainly  preserve  it. 


LONGCHAMPS.  237 

I  will  receive  the  letter,  and  promise  to  burn  it  un- 
sealed." 

The  ring  was  unhesitatingly  transferred  from  the 
hand  of  Almeria  to  that  of  her  friend,  the  latter  re- 
solving inwardly  that  she  would  be  mistress  both  of 
the  secret  and  the  jewel ;  the  former,  as  firmly  resolv- 
ing that  she  would  secure  the  execution  of  the  com- 
pact by  being  present,  if  that  were  possible,  at  the 
moment  the  letter  was  received. 

Leaving  these  fair  and  sincere  friends  to  finish 
their  promenade  and  their  colloquy  at  their  leisure,  it 
may  be  desirable  to  give  some  explanation  of  the  part 
of  their  conversation  just  recorded,  though  it  related 
to  a  secret  Almeria  would  fain  have  hidden  from  all 
the  world.  Those  who  were  as  unscrupulous  as  she 
was  in  the  execution  of  her  every  wish,  do  not  deserve 
to  be  treated  with  peculiar  delicacy,  and  they  might 
be  made  more  conscientious  than  they  are,  if  they  sup- 
posed themselves  liable  to  have  their  secret  thoughts 
and  designs  thus  revealed. 

At  the  soire"  e  of  Lady  Augusta  *  *  *  ,  as  Almeria 
informed  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  she  had  seen  Captain 
Delamere,  who  had  just  arrived  in  Paris,  and  was  on 
his  return  to  India.  Her  attention  had  been  arrested 
by  a  conversation  she  had  overheard  between  Captain 
Delamere  and  Lady  Augusta,  in  which  he  had  spoken 
in  terms  of  peculiar  interest  of  the  family  of  Mr.  Mel- 
ville ;  and  upon  this  slight  foundation  Almeria  had 
built  a  castle,  which  she  hoped  would  not  be  alto- 
gether one  of  air. 

Almeria  was  accustomed  to  the  adulation  of  many 
suitors.  She  was  a  finished  coquette,  and  if  a  coquette 


238  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

is  ever  surprised  into  love,  the  passion  becomes,  if  not 
more  deep,  far  more  dangerous  than  it  ever  is  in  an 
unsophisticated  heart.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
unlimited  power,  to  the  indulgence  of  every  caprice, 
to  the  gratification  of  every  wish,  however  absurd  or 
impossible  it  might  at  first  be  deemed.  The  difficulty 
of  attaining  any  object  stimulated  her  genius  in  its 
acquisition,  and  her  fertile  resources  of  wealth  and 
talent  had  so  far  sufficed  to  bring  every  admirer  that 
she  had  fancied  within  the  sphere  of  her  influence. 

As  far  as  her  worldly  and  selfish  nature  could  be 
said  to  love,  Almeria  loved  Reginald.  Her  hatred 
was  a  passion  far  less  equivocal,  and  she  hated  Con- 
stance. Reginald  and  Constance  were  alike  uncon- 
scious of  her  love  and  hatred,  and  passed  her,  and  her 
splendors,  and  her  unknown  schemes  with  profound 
indifference,  neither  of  them  ever  bestowing  a  thought 
upon  her. 

Almeria  well  knew  that  Reginald  did  not  suspect 
the  feeling  she  entertained  for  him.  The  daring  plan 
she  had  revolved  in  her  mind  would,  if  any  such  sus- 
picion had  existed,  been  liable  to  failure.  Her  present 
object  was  to  prevent  him  by  any  means,  however 
disingenuous,  from  continuing  those  devoted  atten- 
tions to  Constance,  which  threw  a  blight  over  hei 
existence,  and  to  convince  him,  if  possible,  that  his 
passion  for  her  was  hopeless. 

Almeria's  scheme  will  be  understood  by  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  mysterious  letter  alluded  to  in  her 
conversation  with  Madame  de  St.  Clair  during  their 
drive  to  Longchamps,  instead  of  being  sent  directly 
to  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  was  found  by  Reginald  on 


LONGCHAMPS.  239 

his  table  the  next  day.  The  envelope  of  this  letter 
was  addressed  to  himself,  and  he  unsuspiciously  read 
it  from  beginning  to  end,  before  he  perceived  that  its 
contents  were  designed  for  another.  With  the  hand- 
writing he  was  entirely  unacquainted,  and  therefore  pe- 
rused with  no  little  astonishment,  the  following  epistle. 

"  As  it  may  amuse  you,  my  dear  friend,  to  have 
some  account  of  the  soiree  of  Lady  Augusta,  at  which 
I  was  sorry  not  to  find  you  last  evening,  I  will  give 
you  a  brief  history  of  some  of  my  adventures. 

"  I  was  on  that  occasion  presented  to  her  nephew, 
Captain  Delamere,  an  English  officer,  and  one  of  the 
handsomest  men  I  ever  saw.  From  a  conversation  I 
heard  between  Captain  Delamere  and  Lady  Augusta, 
I  infer  that  he  is  the  accepted  lover  of  Miss  Melville. 
They  have  been  engaged  to  be  married  for  a  year 
past,  as  he  met  with  her  and  paid  his  addresses  to  her 
last  year,  when  he  visited  the  happy  continent  where 
all  your  admiration  and  affections  are  centred.  I 
could  not  have  supposed  that  one  so  young  and  lovely 
as  Miss  Melville  would  act  a  part  so  disingenuous  as 
to  conceal  this  engagement  from  all  the  world,  and 
thus  entangle  other  hearts,  as  she  seems  to  be  doing 
here  at  present. 

"  I  have  many  more  odd  things  to  relate,  but  I  am 
very  busy  sending  off  cards  of  invitation  for  a  musical 
soiree,  and  have  not  time  this  morning  to  add  more. 

over — 

"  Lady  Augusta  has  the  loveliest  little  king  Char- 
ley in  the  world. 

"  Ever  yours,        ALMERIA  BELMONT. 

"  (To  Madame  de  St.  Clair.)" 


240  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

The  address  and  signature  on  the  page  "  over," 
separated  as  they  were  from  its  contents,  gave  a  sim- 
ple and  obvious  explanation  of  the  mystery  of  this 
letter  by  disclosing  its  origin  and  destination. 

Reginald  could  not  be  blamed  for  reading  it,  which 
he  had  done  before  he  perceived  the  mistake  he  had 
made.  It  had  doubtless,  as  he  supposed,  been  hastily 
put  in  an  envelope  intended  to  cover  an  invitation  for 
him  to  the  soiree  musicale  mentioned  in  the  letter, 
while  the  invitation  for  him  was,  by  a  corresponding 
mistake,  put  into  an  envelope  bearing  the  address  of 
Madame  de  St.  Clair. 

He  wrote  a  line  of  apology  to  Madame  de  St. 
Clair,  and  had  just  despatched  it,  when  a  breathless 
messenger  arrived  from  Miss  Belmont,  to  inform  Mr. 
Yilliers  that  a  mistake  had  occurred  in  sending  him 
an  invitation  that  morning  for  a  soiree.  Miss  Belmont 
begged  the  favor  of  Mr.  Villiers  to  return  the  note 
addressed  to  him,  as  it  had  been  designed  for  Madame 
de  St.  Clair,  and  an  invitation  to  the  soiree  was  sent 
as  a  substitute. 

But  the  subtle  poison  had  done  its  work,  and 
Reginald  felt  as  if  a  dagger  had  been  planted  in  his 
heart.  In  vain  he  tried  to  shake  off  the  impression 
made  by  the  words  he  had  just  read.  The  world 
was  always  full  of  idle  reports — the  writer  of  the  note 
was  unworthy,  in  his  estimation,  to  breathe  the  name 
he  considered  almost  profaned  by  being  mentioned  in 
a  letter  from  her  to  her  friend.  But  what  motive 
could  she  have  but  the  love  of  gossip  for  inventing 
such  a  tale  ? — and  then,  was  it  her  invention,  or  was  it 
indeed  a  terrible  reality  ? 


LONGCHAMPS.  241 

The  doubt  was  too  painful, — it  must  be  resolved, — 
he  would  inquire.  Then  came  a  thousand  perplexing 
thoughts.  His  acquaintance  with  Constance  was  too 
recent  to  ask  questions  that  would  resolve  these 
doubts,  if  he  made  the  inquiry  only  a  matter  of 
friendly  interest,  and  it  would  be  hazarding  all  his 
hopes  to  be  precipitate  in  the  declaration  of  his  pas- 
sion. He  well  knew  that  one  so  delicate  and  refined 
could  not  "  unsought  be  won,"  and  that  a  preference 
on  her  part  for  him  must  be  founded  not  only  on 
gratitude  for  his  love  for  her,  but  on  solid  esteem 
ripened  gradually  into  a  deeper  sentiment. 

It  was  with  no  small  degree  of  anxiety  that  he 
counted  the  minutes  that  would  elapse  before  the 
hour  of  one  o'clock,  at  which  time  he  had  been  in-, 
formed  by  them,  that  Mrs.  and  Miss  Melville  would 
visit  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre  to  inspect  a  new  paint- 
ing recently  added  to  the  collection  there.  How 
heavily  those  minutes  passed  !  At  length  the  wished, 
the  dreaded  hour  arrived.  Reginald  drove  to  the 
Louvre. 

The  Louvre  was  thronged  with  distinguished  visit- 
ors, the  privilege  of  entrance  having  been  restricted 
for  the  occasion,  and  the  part  of  the  gallery,  in  which 
the  new  painting  was  placed,  was  filled  to  overflowing. 
Reginald  was  compelled  to  move  forward  slowly  to 
the  spot  where  Mrs.  Melville  and  Constance  were 
seated  together  on  one  of  the  small  banquettes  pro- 
vided for  persons  fatigued  by  their  artistic  researches 
through  the  long  galleries. 

Constance  looked  more  lovely  than  ever  in  a  white 
hat  adorned  with  a  few  rose  buds  within,  rivalling  the 
11 


242  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

delicate  carnation  of  her  complexion.  More  than  one 
admirer  of  the  beautiful  in  art  paused  to  glance  at  a 
face,  lovelier  in  ifs  natural  charms  than  any  the  glow- 
ing canvas  could  offer  them. 

Just  as  Reginald  was  about  to  emerge  from  the 
crowd,  a  handsome  military  man  stepped  forward, 
and  approaching  Mrs.  and  Miss  Melville,  paid  his  com- 
pliments with  the  ease  of  an  old  acquaintance. 

"  Captain  Delamere  !  "  exclaimed  Constance,  offer- 
ing him  her  hand  with  a  smile  of  welcome  that 
beamed  in  her  expressive  eyes,  "  this  is  quite  an  un- 
expected pleasure ! " 

If  Reginald  had  not  been  prepared  by  the  fiend 
of  jealousy  to  see  every  thing  through  the  optics  of 
the  green-eyed  monster,  he  would  have  detected 
nothing  in  this  salutation  but  an  innocent  expression 
of  pleasure  at  this  unexpected  meeting  with  a  person 
associated  with  pleasant  thoughts  of  home  and  friends. 
But  it  was  enough  that  the  beaming  smile  was  not  for 
him, — Almeria  had  then  told  the  truth, — Captain  De- 
lamere was  a  favored  lover,  and  Reginald  was — not 
himself. 

Certainly — For,  under  other  circumstances,  he 
would  have  been  too  ingenuous  to  suspect  deceit,  too 
noble  to  suspect  meanness,  too  amiable  to  form  un- 
charitable surmises,  too  sensible  to  do  foolish  things. 
Yet  what  cannot  love  and  jealousy,  when  united,  as 
they  were  with  him,  effect  ?  He  was  too  much  in 
love,  and  too  jealous,  to  reason.  He  felt  as  if  the 
charm  of  his  existence  had  been  suddenly  annihilated ! 

The  remainder  of  the  hours,  that  succeeded  this  un- 
propitious  meeting,  were  passed  in  uncertain  musing ; 


LONGCHAMPS.  243 

and  a  night's  rest  deserves  not  the  name,  when  not  a 
moment  of  the  whole  night  has  been  passed  in  quiet 
oblivion  of  the  events  of  the  day.  Reginald  rose  from 
his  sleepless  pillow  the  morning  after  he  had  first  seen 
Captain  Delamere,  resolving  that  he  would  risk  every 
thing,  and  dispel  the  doubts  that  robbed  him  of  his 
peace. 

The  hour  for  visiting  arrived,  and  he  drove  to  Mr. 
Melville's  hotel.  As  his  carriage  was  about  to  enter 
tHe  porte  coch&re,  he  saw  Captain  Delamere  enter  the 
house.  Hastily  inscribing  a  P.  P.  C.  on  his  card,  he 
left  it  with  the  porter  and  drove  off. 


* 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE     CONSPIRATORS. 

IN  a  small  but  richly  furnished  parlor  of  a  house 
in  one  of  the  most  retired  streets  leading  from  the 
Champs  Elys6es  toward  the  Barriere  du  Roule,  sat  a 
personage, — she  shall  not  be  dignified  with  the  title  of 
lady,  though  her  rich  dress  might,  at  the  first  glance, 
have  deceived  a  more  than  casual  observer  into  the 
belief  that  she  was  entitled  to  that  appellation.  There 
was  a  soft,  purring,  cat-like  air  about  her,  well  calcu- 
lated to  heighten  the  deceit. 

She  was  attired  apparently  for  a  morning  drive ; 
and  a  velvet  dress,  and  a  hat  of  the  same  color  and 
material,  ornamented  with  mingled  ostrich  and  soft 
marabout  feathers,  a  large  palatine  and  muff  of  zibe- 
line  sable,  and  a  deep  border  of  the  same  costly  fur 
around  the  skirt  of  the  dress,  showed  that  no  expense 
had  been  spared  in  its  adornment. 

The  morning  was  cold  for  the  spring,  as  this  care 
of  her  health,  in  the  anticipated  exposure  of  a  morning 
drive,  attested,  and  a  small  fire  was  burning  in  the 
hearth,  from  which  her  face  was  sheltered  by  a  silken 
screen  that  depended  from  the  mantel.  She  was  re- 


THE  CONSPIRATORS.  245 

clining,  rather  than  sitting,  upon  a  small  velvet  causeuse, 
and  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  one  of  those  poisonous 
works  of  a  perverted  imagination,  with  which  the  cir- 
culating libraries  of  the  metropolis  were  unhappily 
rife. 

She  started,  when  a  hand  was  unexpectedly  laid 
upon  the  book,  though  it  was  done  in  the  soft  cat-like 
manner  resembling  her  own,  and  the  voice  that  ac- 
companied the  action  was  modulated  to  her  own 
purring  tones.  The  person,  who  had  thus  intruded 
upon  her  solitude,  was  apparently  not  unexpected,  for 
as  soon  as  she  had  recovered  from  her  surprise,  she 
greeted  him  Avith  a  smile  of  Avelcome. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me  this  morning, 
Auguste,"  she  said  in  her  softest  manner,  "  notwith- 
standing the  promise  I  exacted  from  you  so  prettily 
last  evening,  according  to  our  compact,  to  pay  me  a 
fraternal  visit  to-day.  I  have  been  trying  to  beguile 
the  time  with  this  entertaining  book.  Ah,  why  am  I 
so  weak  as  to  rely  so  much  for  my  happiness  upon  a 
brother,  a  step-brother  it  is  true,  but  still  one  so  be- 
loved, yet  so  capricious  as  Auguste  Dubourg  ?  " 

She  put  a  delicately  laced  and  embroidered  hand- 
kerchief to  her  eyes,  as  she  spoke. 

"  Madeleine,"  said  Dubourg,  changing  his  tone 
from  the  flattering  one  in  which  he  had  accosted  her, 
"  I  have  no  time  at  present  for  playing  the  part  of  the 
affectionate  brother,  which  has  so  often  served  our 
purposes  that  we  must  rehearse  it  sometimes  in  pri- 
vate, in  order  that  our  performance  may  be  more 
effective,  when  our  interests  demand  its  display  else- 
where. We  understand  each  other  too  well  to  act 


246  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

such  a  farce,  except  when  it  is  necessary  to  make 
dupes  of  others  ;  here  we  have  no  witnesses  ;  I  have 
come  this  morning  to  speak  the  truth." 

"  Well,"  returned  Madeleine,  changing  her  voice 
to  a  livelier  key  than  the  one  she  had  hitherto  spoken 
in,  "and  what  may  be  the  unusual  occurrence  that 
has  led  to  such  an  unusual  result  ?  " 

"  You  speak  more  like  your  real  self  in  that  re- 
mark, Madeleine,"  replied  Dubourg,  "  and  though  it 
is  less  flattering  to  me,  it  gives  me  a  better  assurance 
of  your  sincerity.  But  as  a  pleasant  prelude  to  the 
colloquy  I  propose,  walk  to  the  window,  and  give  me 
your  opinion  of  the  equipage  I  have  provided  for  your 
morning  drive." 

His  companion  hastened  to  the  window,  and  gave 
a  suppressed  cry  of  pleasure.  Beautiful !  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Sapristi ! " — forgetting  at  once,  in  the 
joy  of  the  surprise,  that  by  a  vulgar  expression,  nearest 
to  an  oath,  she  was  forfeiting  every  claim  to  the  senti- 
mental lady  she  had  feigned.  "  They  are  undeniably 
and  perfectly  beautiful.  Chariot,  liveries,  horses, 
every  thing  in  keeping,  and  splendid  in  style  !  " 

"  As  to  the  chariot  and  the  liveries,"  said  Dubourg, 
"  you  may  have  some  just  ideas  with  regard  to  them, 
but  no  woman  has  any  idea  of  a  horse  farther  than 
his  head  and  tail,  and  the  tail  of  a  horse  is  as  often 
tied  on  here  for  a  drive,  as  the  wig  of  an  old  beau  is 
put  on  for  the  same  purpose,  without  wiser  heads 
than  yours  making  any  discovery  of  the  trick.  But  I 
rejoice  that  the  equipage  meets  your  approbation, 
since  I  came  this  morning  to  offer  it  to  your  ac- 
ceptance." 


THE   CONSPIKATOKS.  247 

"  That  is  kind  indeed,"  replied  Madeleine,  though 
evidently  expressing  less  delight  at  the  acquisition 
than  the  donor  had  expected ;  "  but  for  a  favor  so 
unusual,  something  will  probably  have  to  be  paid. 
What  sacrifice  am  I  to  make  for  this  elegant  addition 
to  my  pleasures  ?  " 

Dubourg  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  re- 
plied :  "  If  I  ask  sacrifices,  I  am  willing  to  make  them, 
as  you  perceive  from  the  gift  I  have  just  offered  you. 
There  are  others  that  I  will  make,  if  you  will  oblige 
me  in  the  object  I  have  in  view,  i  saw  on  your  table 
yesterday  a  handful  of  bills,  of  which  those  of  Victo- 
rine  and  Herbault  alone  are  sufficient  to  send  you  to 
Clichy,  unless  a  hand  more  powerful  than  your  own 
is  interposed  to  prevent  such  a  catastrophe." 

"  And  by  what  right  do  you  take  upon  yourself 
to  examine  my  bills  without  my  knowledge  or  con- 
sent ? "  said  Madeleine,  reddening  with  anger,  and 
altogether  forgetting  her  assumed  softness  of  man- 
ner. 

Dubourg  smiled  scornfully.  "  You  can  answer 
that  question  as  well  as  I  can,"  he  replied.  "  But,  as 
I  have  said  to  you,  I  have  no  time  at  present  to  waste 
in  idle  words.  The  equipage  I  offer  is  yours,  to  do 
what  you  will  with.  This  house  is  leased  for  you  for 
a  term  of  three  years.  The  bills  I  saw  yesterday,  to 
the  extent  of  more  thousands  than  all  your  posses- 
sions are  worth,  shall  be  instantly  paid,  provided," — 

"  Ah,  that  proviso  !  "  exclaimed  Madeleine,  "  it 
must  indeed  involve  a  serious  matter.  Well,  pro- 
ceed." 

"  Before  I  explain  farther,"  said  Dubourg,  "  let 


248  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

me  reverse  the  picture.  If  you  refuse  to  grant  the 
request  I  am  about  to  make,  the  equipage  vanishes  as 
suddenly  as  ever  did  that  of  the  Cenerentola,  and 
you  will  find  nought  but  rats  in  the  place  of  the  horses 
you  so  ardently  admire.  Your  creditors  will  come 
011  you  in  a  swarm,  before  the  week  is  ended.  Your 
house  will  be  stripped  of  its  furniture  to  satisfy  their 
claims,  your  jewels,  furs,  and  laces  will  follow,  the 
house  itself  will  be  underlet,  and  the  fair  personage 
I  have  now  the  honor  to  address  will  be,  as  she  has 
once  before  been, — on  the  pave. 

"  You  offer  a  frightful  alternative,"  said  his  com- 
panion, covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  shud- 
dering with  an  expression  of  genuine  feeling,  "  name 
your  terms — I  shall  be  obedient." 

"  Those  words  are  the  first  really  sensible  ones  you 
have  spoken  this  morning,"  said  Dubourg.  "  Listen 
to  me,  for  my  explanation  requires  attention.  It  is 
all  a  farce,  Madeleine,  for  you  to  pretend  such  devoted 
attachment  to  me.  I  know  that  you  are  bound  to  me 
more  by  interest  than  affection,  and  it  is  to  that  in- 
terest alone  that  I  appeal.  .  All  the  promises  I  have 
made  I  will  fully  guarantee  to  you  ;  and  what  will  be 
better  for  you,  if  the  plan  in  which  I  am  about  to  ask 
your  co-operation  succeeds,  I  will  engage  to  settle  on 
you  a  handsome  pension  for  life. 

"  There  is  in  this  metropolis,"  he  continued,  "  a 
young  person  of  noble  extraction.  Her  father  and 
his  nephew  " — 

"  A  father  and  a  nephew ! "  interrupted  Made- 
leine. "  The  first  part  of  your  communication,  if  it 
is  what  I  suspect,  was  promising  for  the  scheme  ;  the 


THE   CONSPIRATORS.  249 

latter  seems  to  contradict  the  possibility  of  carrying 
it  into  execution." 

"Listen  to  my  explanation  without  interrupting 
me,"  said  Dubourg  impatiently.  "  The  father  is  an 
Italian  nobleman  of  high  rank  and  great  wealth,  but 
entirely  absorbed  in  pursuits  that  occupy  all  his  time, 
to  the  exclusion  of  attention  to  affairs  of  practical  in- 
terest, and  he  is  thus  rendered  an  easy  prey  to  subtle 
minds  "  — 

"  Like  yours,  for  example,"  said  Madeleine. 

"  He  has  been  easily  duped  in  many  things  of  vital 
interest  to  him,"  continued  Dubourg,  without  heeding 
the  interruption,  "  and  with  your  aid  I  can  secure  his 
whole  fortune,  of  which,  as  I  have  said,  you  shall  Be  a 
partaker." 

"And  how  is  this  honorable  purpose  to  be  ef- 
fected ?  "  inquired  Madeleine. 

"  Simply  by  securing  the  hand  of  his  only  daugh- 
ter for  myself,"  said  Dubourg ;  "  and  this  is  the  point 
upon  which  I  have  now  come  to  make  my  compact 
with  you." 

"  And  supposing  that  your  brilliant  scheme  should 
fail,"  said  Madeleine,  "  what  would  remain  for  you  but 
the  galleys,  and  for  me  imprisonment,  perhaps  for  life, 
even  if  I  should  not  run  the  risk  of  the  cunning  little 
window  that  might  be  shut  down  so  neatly  on  my 
head  ? "  and  she  touched  the  back  of  her  neck  ex- 
pressively in  imitation  of  the  action  of  the  guillotine. 

"  Pshaw ! "  ejaculated  Dubourg.  "  Heads  do  not 
fall  so  lightly  for  offences  against  rank  and  power 
as  they  did  in  former  days;  people  have  grown 
wiser." 

11* 


250  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  They  have  grown  too  wise,  I  fear  me,  for  such  a 
mad  project  as  yours  to  succeed,  Auguste,"  said  his 
companion ;  "  but  explain  your  plan  farther,  and  I  can 
then  decide  on  its  feasibility." 

"  My  success  will  depend  mainly  upon  your  cun- 
ning and  presence  of  mind,"  said  Dubourg ;  "  my  plan 
is  this.  I  shall  expect  you  every  day  this  week  to 
take  a  drive  at  this  hour  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  I 
shall  there  find  an  early  opportunity  of  pointing  out 
to  you  the  chariot  in  which  the  young  lady  may  be 
seen  every  fair  morning,  taking  the  air  with  her  father. 
Should  any  accidental  occurrence  present  you  the  op- 
portunity, you  will  promptly  and  cleverly  avail  your- 
self of  it  to  offer  yourself  and  your  carriage  to  take 
the  young  person  to  her  father's  house  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain,  alleging  as  a  reason  why  you  offer  this 
civility,  that  your  hotel, — mind  the  important  and 
distinguishing  word, — is  in  that  quarter,  and  near 
her  own. 

"  If  she  falls  into  the  trap,  and  consents  to  take  a 
seat  in  your  elegant  vehicle,  take  care  to  make  some 
pretext  for  drawing  down  the  curtains.  At  the  dis- 
tance of  a  league  from  the  city,  you  will  find  post- 
horses  ready  to  take  the  place  of  yours.  Your  ele- 
gant chariot  must  for  once  serve  the  purpose  of  a 
travelling  carriage.  You  must  continue  on  with  all 
the  speed  that  gold  can  buy  to  Sens.  There  pause, 
and  I  will  overtake  you,  for  I  shall  be  compelled 
to  remain  here  perhaps  the  whole  day,  to  throw  dust 
into  the  eyes  of  the  bereaved  father  and  the  frantic 
nephew,  and  to  put  both  upon  a  wrong  scent  by  my 
sympathy  and  my  researches  for  the  lost  treasure." 


THE  CONSPIRATORS.  251 

"  But  if  the  wit  of  the  young  lady  should  surpass 
mine  ?  "  inquired  Madeleine.  "  I  may  be  caught  in  the 
trap  you  have  so  ingeniously  prepared." 

"  The  daughter  of  the  nobleman  is  very  young," 
said  Dubourg,  "  and  most  probably  very  ignorant,  as 
she  has  been  entirely  secluded  from  society.  She  can 
be  more  easily  duped  than  the  father.  I  can  act  the 
tender  lover  to  perfection,  and  you  can  as  easily  per- 
form the  part  of  the  amiable  protectress.  I  do  not  at 
all  despair  of  cajoling  her  into  a  passion  for  me ;  and 
when  her  union  with  me  is  indissoluble,  her  father's 
forgiveness  will  be  secured,  and  his  fortune  will  be 
our  reward.  Remember  that  I  count  upon  your  aid. 
You  are  clever,  wary,  and  unscrupulous.  Exercise 
your  talent,  and  it  will  be  bountifully  repaid.  4  Look 
like  the  innocent  flower,  but  be  the  serpent  under  it,' 
as  you  can  when  it  suits  your  purpose.  Are  you  wil- 
ling to  bind  yourself  to  this  compact  ?  " 

Madeleine  hesitated.  At  length  she  replied,  "  Of 
what  use  would  it  be  to  refuse  ?  you  have  me  in  your 
power, — do  with  me  as  you  will, — yes,  I  consent." 

"  Then  adieu  for  the  present,  ma  chere^  said 
Dubourg.  "  The  chariot  of  madame  awaits  her !  " 

He  said  the  last  words  in  a  loud  tone,  and  the  ob- 
sequious footman  stood,  hat  in  hand,  to  receive  her 
orders. 

"  Au  Bois  de  Boulogne ! "  said  the  mistress  of  the 
elegant  vehicle,  as  she  threw  herself  on  the  luxurious 
cushions. 

Dubourg  waived  the  ceremony  of  assisting  the 
fair  owner  to  mount  the  steps,  and  waited  a  few  mo- 
ments, (apparently  unwilling  to  be  recognized  in  her 


252  HOME  AND  THE  WOKLD. 

presence,)  until  she  was  out  of  sight.  He  then  walked 
rapidly  to  the  Champs  Elys6es,  and  emerged  from 
the  side-street  at  the  moment  that  a  curricle  was 
dashing  past  it.  With  the  easy  familiarity  of  old 
acquaintance  and  friendship,  he  made  a  signal  to  the 
servants  to  stop,  and  sprang  into  it. 

"  You  are  early  in  your  drive  this  morning,  Vic- 
tor," he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  by  his  friend,  who 
willingly  made  room  for  him  by  his  side ;  "  but  the 
season  is  tempting  after  the  freezing  cold  and  the 
darkness  of  the  past  winter.  It  is  pleasant  to  bask  in 
such  a  sun  as  this,"  he  continued,  carelessly  stretch- 
ing his  lazy  length,  as  if  to  receive  the  full  benefit  of 
the  warmth  he  eulogized. 

"  I  have  a  headache  this  morning,"  replied  Vic- 
tor ;  "  we  were  up  too  late  last  night,  and  I  begin 
to  feel  the  effects  of  such  continual  excitement  on  my 
nerves.  I  came  out  earlier  than  usual  to-day,  in  the 
hope  that  the  air  would  dispel  it." 

"  Your  remedy  is  too  gentle,"  said  Dubourg.  "  I 
can  recommend  one  that  will  be  far  more  efficacious. 
Why  do  you  never  ride,  instead  of  driving  ?  The  ex- 
ercise is  more  stimulating,  and  would  soon  re-establish 
your  health,  which,  I  see  with  deep  regret,  has  of  late 
been  declining." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  cadence  of  fra- 
ternal solicitude,  and  with  an  expression  of  tender 
sympathy. 

"  I  have  never  practised  horsemanship  sufficiently 
to  make  it  a  pleasure  to  me,"  said  Victor,  "  and  though 
I  have  taken  lessons  for  a  year  at  a  time,  I  find  that  I 
begun  the  exercise  too  late  in  life.  To  make  a  per- 


THE   CONSPIEATOKS.  253 

feet  cavalier,  one  should  begin  almost  in  infancy,  and 
continue  the  exercise  constantly  as  an  every  day  habit, 
and  not  as  a  mere  accomplishment." 

"  This  is  true,  I  grant  you,"  replied  Dubourg,  "  if 
you  desire  to  be  distinguished  in  a  steeple  chase,  or 
if  you  should  chance  to  visit  our  neighbors  on  the 
other  side  of  the  channel,  and  would  there  always  be 
in  at  the  death  of  the  fox ;  but  a  more  sober  senti- 
mental ride  would  better  accord  with  your  nerves 
and  your  health,  and  you  would  find  the  accomplish- 
ment  you  have  acquired  to  serve  you  as  well  for  such 
a  purpose,  as  the  habit  you  might  have  possessed." 

"I  find  that  a  horse  perfectly  trained  gives  me 
agreeable  exercise  and  excitement,"  said  Victor,  "but 
such  are  rare  here,  and  grooms  are  so  faithless  that  I 
have  always  found  the  trouble  they  give  surpasses 
the  pleasure  which  the  horses  they  profess  to  attend 
can  afford  me." 

"  Your  friends,"  replied  Dubourg,  "  cannot  allow 
your  health,  which  is  of  so  much  more  importance 
than  their  own  in  the  present  posture  of  affairs,  to  be 
put  to  hazard,  while  there  are  means  at  hand  that 
might  effect  its  restoration.  I  am  most  happy,  my 
dear  friend,  that  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  give  you 
the  pleasure  without  the  penalty  that  attaches  to  it, 
and  you  will  find,  for  once,  the  nulplaisir  sans  peine 
a  fallacy.  I  have  an  admirable  English  hunter,  a  new 
acquisition,  and  he  will  be  perfectly  at  your  service 
every  fine  morning  when  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to 
use  him.  You  will  find  him  perfectly  trained,  docile 
and  gentle,  yet  with  mettle  enough,  when  you  put 


254  HOME   AND   THE   WOELD. 

him  up  to  it,  to  give  you  exercise  and  occupation. 
You  can  guide  him  with  a  silken  thread, " 

"Your  enthusiasm  will  lead  you  into  some  ex- 
travagance, if  I  do  not  interrupt  it,"  said  Victor,  at- 
tempting a  smile,  that  played  over  his  pale  face  like 
a  wintry  sunbeam,  appearing  only  for  an  instant, 
and  then  vanishing  in  the  gloom.  "  You  can  send  your 
horses  to-morrow,  if  it  suits  your  convenience.  If 
I  feel  well  enough,  I  may  avail  myself  of  your 
kindness." 

"  I  trust  you  may,"  returned  Dubourg,  "  but  we 
must  not  speak  of  illness,  for  the  surest  way  to  invite 
the  monster's  approach  is  running  to  meet  him,  un- 
like other  monsters  who  are  always  appalled  by  being 
looked  steadfastly  in  the  face.  Let  us  speak  of  some- 
thing more  pleasant.  Apropos,  why  have  you  never 
fulfilled  your  promise  of  presenting  me  to  your  fair 
cousin  and  her  father  ?  " 

The  theme  his  friend  had  selected  to  divert  sad 
thoughts,  seemed  ill  imagined  for  the  purpose.  The 
pale  cheek  grew  paler,  as  Victor  replied  with  an 
effort  at  self-command,  and  with  assumed  carelessness. 
"  Oh,  the  time  is  not  yet  come.  I  shall  fulfil  my  pro- 
mise at  a  future  day,  but  at  present  there  are  circum- 
stances that  induce  the  comte  to  live  more  in  retire- 
ment than  usual.  When  these  circumstances  no  longer 
present  an  obstacle,  his  daughter  will  appear  in  the 
fashionable  world." 

"  And,  meantime,  what  is  so  handsome  a  cavalier 
as  yourself  thinking  of,  Victor,  not  to  take  advantage 
of  your  privileges  of  acquaintance,  to  make  an  im- 
pression on  the  fair  one?  Ah!  the  reason  is  plain. 


THE  CONSPIKATORS.  255 

Doubtless  she  is  old  and  ugly,  and  you  do  not  think 
it  would  be  worth  the  trouble  to  obtain  a  dispensa- 
tion from  Rome,  which  would  be  necessary  in  your 
union  with  so  near  a  relative,  and  thus  enable  you  to 
possess  yourself  of  the  treasure.  But  I  perceive  that  it 
gives  you  pain  to  converse.  Trust  me,  the  remedy  I 
propose  will  be  a  sovereign  cure.  You  may  drop  me 
here,"  he  continued,  "  for  I  prefer  walking  to  driving , 
in  such  a  pleasant  day  as  this.  I  shall  inquire  after 
your  health  this  evening.  Adieu !  my  friend." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE      ACCIDENT. 

AT  the  hour  appointed  on  the  following  day,  the 
horses  promised  by  his  kind  and  considerate  friend 
were  at  Victor's  door. 

As  he  descended  to  the  court,  he  found  the  Eng- 
lish groom,  a  specimen  of  the  most  approved  propor- 
tions of  diminutiveness  for  the  fashionable  tiger,  ar- 
rayed in  his  neat  tightly-fitting  costume,  buttoned 
redingote,  belted  waist,  buckskins,  and  white-topped 
boots,  walking  the  fine  hunter  to  and  fro,  to  curb  his 
impatience  until  the  happy  moment  should  arrive  to 
free  him  from  the  scorned  restraint. 

Victor,  as  he  had  explained  to  his  friend,  was  a 
fashionable,  though  not  a  practised  horseman.  He 
vaulted  lightly  into  the  saddle,  as  this  was  a  part  of 
the  exercise  he  had  attained  in  perfection,  and  found 
that  the  fine  animal  well  merited  the  praise  enthusias- 
tically lavished  on  him  by  his  owner.  He  submitted 
to  every  caprice  of  the  rider  with  perfect  docility,  and 
the  silken  thread  which  Dubourg  had  vaunted  as 
sufficient  to  control  him  would,  as  it  seemed  to  Vic- 
tor, have  well  served  the  purpose. 


THE  ACCIDENT.  257 

Exhilarated  and  refreshed  by  the  unusual  exercise 
and  excitement,  he  was  returning  from  an  hour's  ride 
through  the  allees  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  when  he 
was  overtaken  by  Dubourg.  Victor  checked  his  horse, 
and  they  rode  slowly  side  by  side. 

"  You  find  my  prescription  salutary,  I  trust,"  said 
Dubourg.  "  I  can  assure  you  I  am  no  mean  physician, 
especially  when  the  health  of  a  friend  so  dear  to  me  is 
at  stake.  You  look  like  yourself  this  morning ;  quite 
different  from  my  nervous  patient  of  yesterday." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Victor,  gratefully  passing  his  hand 
over  the  neck  of  the  fine  animal  he  rode,  who  acknow- 
ledged the  caress  by  proudly  raising  his  head,  as  if 
conscious  of  the  praises  bestowed  on  him,  "  your  horse 
has  produced  results  already  that  the  whole  pharma- 
copoeia of  the  apothecary's  treasures  could  not  have 
effected.  But  he  is  better  used  to  the  spirited  exer- 
cise I  have  given  him  this  morning  than  I  am.  I 
must  return  home  to  repose  after  it." 

As  he  spoke,  they  entered  a  narrow  alUe,  the  width 
of  which  admitted  of  the  passage  of  only  one  carriage 
at  a  time.  It  was  already  occupied  by  a  chariot, 
which  Victor  recognized  as  that  of  his  kinsman,  the 
Comte  de  Visconti.  *  To  his  surprise,  instead  of  draw- 
ing up  on  one  side,  as  Victor  was  passing  on  the  other, 
Dubourg,  with  an  apparent  awkwardness  unpardon- 
able in  a  skilful  horseman,  persisted  in  keeping  his 
place  by  the  side  of  his  friend.  His  armed  heel  came 
in  rough  contact  with  the  side  of  the  spirited  hunter. 
The  horse  reared  and  plunged,  shyed  suddenly,  and 
Victor  was  thrown  with  violence  to  the  ground. 

The  count  hastily  descended  from  his  carriage, 


258  HOME  A1STD  THE  WOELD. 

and  approached  the  spot  where  his  nephew  was  lying, 
stunned  and  nearly  insensible,  but  happily  without 
farther  injury.  Dubourg  was  supporting  Victor's 
head  on  his  shoulder,  and  lamenting  the  sad  accident 
in  terms  such  as  only  the  tenderest  friendship  could 
suggest.  Beatrice,  faint  with  terror,  came  trembling 
to  the  spot  where  the  accident,  which  she  feared  was 
fatal,  had  happened. 

At  this  moment  a  chariot  drove  up,  and  a  lady 
elegantly  dressed  descended  from  it,  and  with  expres- 
sions of  kindly  sympathy,  softly  inquired  if  she  could 
afford  any  assistance. 

"  I  perceive,"  she  said,  "  that  the  young  lady  is 
very  much  agitated.  I  think  I  have  the  honor  to 
address  myself  to  the  Comte  de  Yisconti.  My  hotel 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  is  very  near  your  own, 
and  as  there  is  only  room  in  your  chariot  for  yourself 
and  the  young  gentleman  who  has  met  with  the  acci- 
dent, (your  son,  I  presume,)  if  it  is  agreeable  to  her, 
I  shall  be  most  happy  to  offer  the  young  lady  a  seat 
in  mine,  and  conduct  her  to  your  residence." 

The  count,  who  was  too  much  agitated  and  per- 
plexed by  the  alarming  accident  that  had  just  oc- 
curred to  perceive  any  thing  not  perfectly  natural 
and  suitable  in  this  kind  proposal,  so  gracefully  and 
delicately  made,  accepted  the  offer,  and  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Dubourg,  placed  his  nephew  in  his  chariot, 
and  took  his  seat  by  his  side.  Beatrice  put  herself 
under  the  protection  of  the  gentle-looking  lady,  who, 
with  many  soothing  expressions  of  tenderness  and 
condolence,  followed  her  into  the  elegant  vehicle  that 
awaited  her  orders. 


THE  ACCIDENT.  259 

"You  have  been  weeping,  signorina,"  she  said. 
"  Your  eyes  are  still  full  of  tears,  and  your  nerves  are 
sadly  shaken.  Ah,  the  brother  who  can  claim  such 
tears  from  those  eyes  must  be  dear,  indeed  !  Allow 
me  to  exclude  that  glaring  sunlight." 

She  drew  down  the  silken  blinds  of  the  chariot,  as 
she  spoke. 

Beatrice  was  too  much  agitated  to  observe  any 
thing  strange  in  the  proposition.  She  was  relieved, 
by  the  exclusion  of  the  light,  from  the  pain  the  sun 
really  caused,  and  she  became  absorbed  in  a  deep 
reverie,  which  made  her  unconscious  that  more  than 
twice  the  time  necessary  to  reach  her  father's  resi- 
dence had  elapsed.  She  was  aroused  from  her  medi- 
tations by  a  pause  in  the  motion  of  the  carriage,  which 
had  been  driven  with  fearful  velocity,  though  she  had 
not  perceived  it. 

Supposing  that  she  had  arrived  at  home,  she  was 
about  to  thank  her  amiable  protectress  for  her  kind- 
ness, when,  to  her  astonishment,  she  saw  the  domestic 
aiding  a  postillion  to  attach  post-horges  to  the  vehicle 
that  contained  herself  and  her  companion.  The  me- 
tropolis was  far  behind  her,  and  only  a  house  for  the 
relay  was  in  sight.  The  broad  straight  road,  with  its 
long  double  lines  of  dusty  trees,  was  the  only  other 
visible  object. 

"  Oh  heaven ! "  exclaimed  Beatrice,  clasping  her 
hands  and  gazing  with  wild  terror  around  her, 
"  "What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  I  entreat  you, 
madam,  to  take  me  instantly  to  my  father,  as  you 
promised." 

"  My  dear  love,"  said  the  lady  in  her  tenderest 


260  HOME   AND   THE   WOKLD. 

tones,  "  be  composed,  I  implore  you.  I  am  only  act- 
ing according  to  the  directions  I  have  received." 

"  Directions  ?  it  is  impossible ! "  said  Beatrice.  "  My 
father  never  sent  me  from  him  thus.  This  is  some 
vile  deception ! "  she  cried,  and  with  a  wild  shriek, 
she  attempted  to  wrest  her  hand  from  that  of  her 
companion,  who  forcibly  detained  her  by  holding  both 
hers. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  the  servant,  who  was  assisting 
the  postillions  in  attaching  the  horses,  "  you  perceive 
that  she  has  lost  her  wits.  This  good  lady  is  her 
aunt,  and  she  is  only  taking  her  to  an  insane  asylum  in 
the  country.  So  she  informed  us  this  morning.  We 
shall  have  to  watch  her  closely,  to  prevent  her  escaping 
or  doing  some  violence  to  herself  or  others." 

The  postillions,  after  this  explanation,  completed 
their  work  without  farther  inquiry,  and  in  another 
moment  the  chariot  was  again  whirled  forward,  and 
was  rapidly  measuring  league  after  league  of  the  long 
straight  dusty  road, — the  cat-like  companion  of  the 
hapless  Beatrice  remaining  as  insensible  to  her  frantic 
cries,  as  the  animal  she  so  much  resembled  is  to  the 
fluttering  struggles  of  the  poor  bird  secured  within 
her  merciless  claws. 

As  the  vehicle  continued  its  rapid  career,  it  over- 
took another  vehicle,  wheeling  with  almost  equal 
rapidity  along  the  straight  dusty  road ;  but  this  one 
was  furnished  with  only  three  post-horses,  while  that 
which  bore  the  feline  monster  and  her  prey,  had  the 
advantage  of  four. 

The  plain  but  substantial  and  appropriate  travel- 
ling chariot  was  distanced,  and  its  solitary  occupant 


THE   ACCIDENT.  261 

was  left  to  meditate  upon  the  peculiarities  which, 
as  an  observing  traveller,  he  had  remarked  in  the 
vehicle  that  had  dashed  by  him  with  such  unusual 
speed. 

He  had  remarked,  even  in  that  brief  moment,  that 
the  vehicle  was  of  the  most  elegant  make  and  finish, 
far  more  suitable  for  display  than  for  the  rough  usage 
to  which  it  was  dedicated, — that  it  was  in  singular  and 
striking  contrast  with  the  four  stout  percheron  post- 
horses,  with  their  coarse  plaited  manes  and  clubbed 
up  tails,  and  that  the  glittering  panels  and  silken  cur- 
tains accorded  ill  with  a  harness  of  ropes.  The  gala 
liveries  of  the  domestics  were  in  equally  striking  con- 
trast with  the  grotesque  costume  of  the  postillions, 
who  with  their  high  broad-br mimed  leather  hats,  huge 
boots  reaching  nearly  to  the  hips,  and  jackets  gar- 
nished with  never-ending  rows  of  small  bullet  buttons, 
were  cracking  their  resounding  whips  in  unison,  and 
drowning,  for  the  moment;  the  ceaseless  jingle  of  the 
rows  of  bells  passed  around  the  clumsy  necks  of  the 
horses. 

The  cracking  of  these  whips  grew  louder,  and 
still  more  like  the  report  of  so  many  pistols,  as  the 
postillions  arrived  at  the  relay,  where  a  change  of 
horses  was  to  be  effected. 

The  travelling  carriage  arrived,  just  as  the  elegant 
one  that  had  preceded  it  was  again  in  motion.  The 
solitary  traveller  was  certain  that  he  heard  a  shriek 
of  distress  from  some  one  within  it. 

"Who  were  those  persons  in  the  carriage  that 
drove  off  just  now  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  maitre  de 


262  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

poste,  who  was  standing  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
looking  curiously  after  the  handsome  vehicle. 

"  Bon  dieu  !  "  ejaculated  the  man,  "  as  if  I  could 
know  all  the  people  who  came  here  for  post-horses  !  " 

"  You  can,  at  least,  inform  me  how  many  there  are, 
and  of  what  description,"  said  the  traveller.  "  You 
may  add  another  horse,"  he  continued,  seeing  the 
postillion  coming  with  three  which  he  had  some  sus- 
picions, from  their  appearance,  had  been  used  too 
recently  for  effective  service,  "  I  desire  to  have  four, 
and  of  the  best.  I  shall  give  you  an  additional  fee, 
if  they  are  strong  and  fresh." 

"  Oh,  I  can  answer  your  question  now  more  easily," 
said  the  obsequious  man  of  the  post,  with  newly 
awakened  civility.  "  The  carriage,  about  which  you 
seem  interested,  contained  two  persons.  They  were 
both  ladies.  The  younger  of  the  two  seemed  in  great 
distress,  and  cried  aloud  for  help,  saying  that  she  had 
been  stolen  from  her  father,  and  carried  off  by  a 
strange  woman.  But  the  other  lady  and  the  servants 
all  said  that  the  poor  thing  had  lost  her  wits,  and  that 
her  aunt  was  only  doing  her  duty  in  taking  her  into 
the  country  to  a  great  doctor  who  has  a  maison  de 
sante  full  of  such  patients  under  his  charge.  Four 
horses,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  traveller,  "and  those  of  the 
freshest  and  best.  Here  is  a  louis  for  yourself.  See 
well  to  it,  I  shall  be  obliged." 

"  Certainly,  milord,"  said  the  man,  bustling  about 
with  activity  to  execute  an  order  so  pleasantly  accom- 
panied, and  supposing,  as  his  practised  eye  had  recog- 
nized a  foreigner,  that  none  but  an  English  milord 


THE  ACCIDENT.  263 

would  offer  such  a  fee,  or  require  such  luxurious  accom- 
modation; "the  horses  will  be  ready  in  a  moment." 

And  with  an  alacrity  that  showed  his  inclination 
as  well  as  his  power,  he  hastened  to  the  stables,  and 
soon  reappeared  with  two  postillions  and  four  of  the 
percherons,  as  rough  as  those  that  had  just  been  taken 
from  his  carriage,  but  stout,  fresh,  and  apparently 
ready  and  willing  for  the  journey. 

To  deal  no  longer  in  mystery,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
explain  at  once  what  the  reader  has  probably  already 
suspected,  that  the  milord  of  the  maitre  de  poste  was 
Reginald  Villiers,  who,  as  the  P.  P.  C.  on  the  card  he 
had  left,  in  a  fit  of  jealous  pique,  indicated,  had  re- 
solved to  leave  a  place,  where  his  hopes  of  promise 
had  been  so  suddenly  checked,  and,  he  feared,  blighted 
by  "  a  frost,  a  killing  frost." 

He  had  written  to  a  friend  he  had  left  hi  Italy, 
who  intended  passing  the  winter  in  Rome  and  the 
spring  in  Florence  and  Genoa,  to  inform  him  that  he 
would  join  him  in  one  of  the  last  named  cities.  This 
was  the  first  day  of  the  journey  so  rashly  undertaken 
and  already  repented  of;  but  he  realized  the  truth 
of  the  often  repeated  saying,  "  c'est  le  premier  pas 
qui  coute,"  and  this  first  step  made  the  rest  of  the 
plan  irrevocable. 

He  dared  not  trust  himself  to  think  on  a  subject 
that  gave  him  so  much  pain  as  did  the  cause  of  his 
sudden  determination ;  and  the  appearance  of  the 
chariot  which  had  passed  him  on  the  road,  gave  him 
something  of  interest  which,  he  resolved,  should  oc- 
cupy his  thoughts  and  attention,  to  the  exclusion  of 
those  that  tormented  him. 


264  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

A  moderate  stimulus,  in  the  form  of  a  pour  boire, 
enabled  Reginald  to  arrive  in  sight  of  the  other  car- 
riage in  less  than  an  hour.  He  directed  the  postil- 
lions to  keep  it  in  sight  until  the  termination  of  the 
day's  journey,  which  was  now  near  at  hand,  as  the 
sun  was  setting.  The  two  carriages  arrived  nearly  at 
the  same  moment  at  Sens,  and  entered  at  the  same 
time  into  the  court  of  the  same  hotel. 

As  Reginald  descended  from  his  own,  he  heard  a 
female  voice,  in  angry  tones  of  expostulation,  within 
the  other  carriage. 

"  Sapristi !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  useless  now  to 
refuse  to  get  out  here :  what  good  will  remaining  in 
the  carriage  do  you  ?  The  people  cannot  wait  for 
you,  all  night !  " 

"  Take  me  back  to  my  father,  cruel  woman  !  "  re- 
plied a  voice  faint  with  emotion.  "  Why  have  I  been 
torn  from  his  arms  ?  Oh,  my  God  !  will  no  one  have 
pity  on  me  !  " 

The  voice  died  away  as  she  spoke,  and  the  young 
person  who  uttered  this  sad  lamentation  had  appa- 
rently become  insensible,  for  her  companion  called 
loudly  for  assistance,  and  she  was  lifted  from  the  car- 
riage and  taken  into  the  house  by  her  attendants. 

"  Poor  thing!  "ejaculated  her  companion,  and  ad- 
dressing herself  to  the  landlord  and  his  fat  good- 
natured  wife,  who  bustled  around  the  fainting  lady 
with  restoratives.  "  She  will  come  to  herself  present- 
ly ;  she  has  had  several  of  these  fits  already  to-day. 
My  poor  niece  is  entirely  insane.  She  has  had  a  brain 
fever  that  has  ended  in  this  manner,  and  having  tried 
the  skill  of  the  best  physicians  of  the  capital  in  vain, 


THE  ACCIDENT.  265 

I  am  taking  her  to  a  celebrated  inaison  de  sant6  near^ 
Geneva." 

At  this  moment  the  young  lady  partially  revived. 
"  Oh  my  father ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  is  your  poor 
Beatrice  then  to  be  the  victim  of  an  infamous  decep- 
tion ?  Is  the  noble  name  of  Yisconti  to  be  known  only 
as  a  reproach !  Have  pity  on  me ! "  she  cried,  ex- 
tending her  arms  wildly  to  those  who  were  standing 
near  her,  "  I  have  been  stolen  from  my  father  by  this 
woman.  Oh,  take  me  back  to  him,  and  your  reward 
will  be  ample  !  " 

"  She  raves,  as  you  hear,"  said  her  companion 
mildly.  "Annette,  my  dear  child,"  she  continued, 
addressing  herself  to  the  supposed  lunatic,  "  you  can- 
not remain  here.  These  good  people  must  take  you 
to  your  chamber.  The  malady  increases  hourly,"  she 
added,  addressing  herself  to  the  bystanders.  "  What 
a  sad  thing  it  is  to  see  a  young  person  entirely 
bereft  of  reason !  The  daughter  of  a  rich  cheese- 
monger as  she  is,  to  fancy  herself  little  less  than  a 
princess ! " 

"  Poor  lamb !  "  said  the  compassionate  hostess, 
"  and  pretty  enough  she  is  for  a  princess,  too  ;  but  as 
you  say;  she  ought  not  to  stay  here." 

The  unfortunate  girl  had  relapsed  into  a  state 
almost  of  insensibility,  and  made  no  farther  resistance 
to  being  taken  to  her  chamber.  But  the  words  she 
had  uttered,  though  sounding  like  "  idle  tales  "  to  the 
obtuse  understanding  of  the  fat  landlady  and  her 
Boniface  husband,  as  well  as  the  gaping  crowd  of 
peasant  domestics  that  surrounded  her,  had  been 


12 


266  HOME   AND   THE   WOELD. 

Jbetter  understood  and  appreciated  by  Reginald,  who 
had  listened  to  them  with  deep  attention. 

He  felt  convinced,  however,  that  if  his  suspicions 
were  just,  it  would  require  silence  and  caution,  as 
well  as  energy,  to  defeat  a  plot  which  so  far  seemed 
to  have  been  managed  with  such  consummate  skill, 
that  any  imprudent  action  on  his  part  might  lead  to  a 
futile  result. 

Reginald  had  never  seen  the  Signorina  Yisconti, 
but  he  had  often  heard  Constance  speak  of  her ;  for, 
though  they  had  not  been  associated  in  the  gayer 
scenes  of  the  metropolis,  the  count  had  not  hesitated 
to  avail  himself  of  the  suggestions  of  Madame  Laval 
to  present  her  pupils  to  each  other,  and  Constance 
and  Beatrice  often  met,  and  a  friendship  was  already 
formed  between  them. 

The  appearance  of  the  beautiful  girl,  who  had  just 
been  taken  away  in  a  state  almost  exanimate,  con- 
firmed his  suspicions.  It  was  not  probable  that  a 
lunatic,  even  if  she  fancied  herself  the  daughter  of  a 
nobleman  instead  of  a  rich  cheesemonger,  as  her 
companion  affirmed,  would  have  fallen  on  the  name 
of  Yisconti  as  .the  favored  one  of  her  selection,  and 
the  longer  Reginald  pondered  over  this  singular  co- 
incidence, the  more  firmly  was  he  convinced  that  the 
signorina  was,  indeed,  the  heroine  of  this  strange  ad- 
venture. 

A  few  minutes  of  rapid  and  concentrated  thought 
determined  him  on  the  best  course  to  pursue.  He 
sent  to  request  the  presence  of  the  landlord.  Boni- 
face came  as  quickly  as  his  corpulency  would  allow 
him  to  waddle  up  stairs. 


THE  ACCIDENT.  267 

"  Where  is  the  maitre  de  poste  ?  "  inquired  Regi- 
nald. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  claim  that  title  myself," 
replied  the  landlord,  bowing.  "  Or  at  least  I  have 
all  the  post-horses  here  at  my  disposal,  which  is  the 
same  thing." 

"  Has  the  lady,  just  arrived,  given  any  orders  ?  " 
said  Reginald. 

"Yes,"  replied  Boniface,  still  panting  with  the 
exertion  of  mounting  the  stairs.  "  She  has  ordered 
four  horses  to  be  kept  in  readiness  for  a  start  at  a 
moment's  warning ;  they  will  perhaps  be  wanted  at 
midnight." 

"  And  what  does  she  pay  for  them  ?  " 

Boniface  named  the  sum. 

"  Those  horses  I  must  have,"  said  Reginald.  "  I 
will  pay  you  double  the  price  the  lady  offers  for  them. 
And  how  many  others  are  at  your  disposal  ?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  there  are  only  four  more  to  be  had 
to-night  in  the  whole  place ;  to-morrow  we  shall  be 
better  supplied." 

"  Then  remember,  if  there  are  a  dozen,"  said  Regi- 
nald, "they  are  mine.  I  must  have  them  without 
reserve.  Make  any  excuse  you  please,  but  the  horses 
I  must  have." 

"  What !  all  of  them,  milord  ?  " 

"Yes— all." 

"  Very  well,  milord.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  two 
of  those  I  promised  the  lady  are  lame."  He  said  this 
with  a  knowing  wag  of  the  head,  and  winked  several 
times  with  one  eye,  though  without  giving  any  farther 
indication  of  the  implied  roguery. 


268  HOME   AND  THE  WOULD. 

"  Now,"  said  Reginald,  "  I  must  consult  you  on 
another  point.  I  have  need  of  a  swift  and  trusty 
messenger  to  go  for  me  to  Paris  on  a  matter  of  vital 
consequence.  Is  there  any  one  here  that  I  could  in- 
trust with  such  a  commission  ?  If  the  messenger 
will  return  to  Paris  as  rapidly  as  the  Estafette,  he 
shall  be  rewarded  with  fifty  louis-d'or." 

"  Parbleu !  milord,"  exclaimed  Boniface,  "  this 
is  an  offer  worth  accepting.  My  son  Jacques  will  be 
too  happy  to  do  your  errand.  There  is  not  a  lad 
like  him  for  riding  and  running  in  all  the  land.  He 
has  been  bred  with  the  horses ;  it  will  be  nothing  but 
fun  for  him." 

Jacques  was  speedily  summoned.  He  was  a  hand- 
some athletic  fellow,  with  an  honest,  intelligent  face. 
Reginald  felt  that  he  might  intrust  him  with  his  deli- 
cate commission. 

"  Have  you  been  in  Paris  ?  "  he  said  to  the  young 
man. 

"  Often,  milord.  I  am  well  acquainted  with  the 
outside  of  the  city,  though  I  have  never  lived  there. 
But  my  calling  has  made  me  acquainted  with  the  dif- 
ferent quarters  and  streets." 

"  Then,"  said  Reginald,  handing  him  a  letter  which 
he  had  hastily  penned  in  the  intervals  of  his  colloquy 
with  the  father  and  son,  "  you  probably  know  where 
to  find  this  address." 

"  Certainly,  milord,  it  is  one  of  the  finest  streets 
in  the  city.  I  know  it  well." 

"  Hasten  then,"  said  Reginald.  "  Lose  not  a  mo- 
ment, and  deliver  this  letter  into  the  hands  of  the 
Comte  de  Visconti  himself.  You  will  readily  gain 


THE  ACCIDENT.  269 

access  to  him  if  you  tell  the  porter  that  you  bring 
him  news  of  his  daughter." 

The  young  man  took  the  letter,  and  bestowing 
it  carefully  in  a  small  portfolio,  which  he  buttoned 
within  the  breast  of  his  coat,  bowed  and  withdreAV. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    RESULT     OF    THE    PLOT. 

THE  excitement  of  his  rapid  journey,  and  the  ad- 
venture that  had  given  it  interest,  indisposed  Regi- 
nald for  sleep. 

His  couch  was  inviting,  for  the  humblest  auberge 
in  the  grande  nation  boasts,  and  not  without  reason, 
of  its  comfortable  beds,  made,  as  they  invariably  are, 
on  the  same  comfortable  pattern, — the  same  piles  of 
light  mattresses  and  large  square  pillows,  with  the 
ample  sheets  of  clean  though  coarse  linen,  covering 
and  double-covering  the  couch. 

The  usual  mal-assortment  of  finery  and  dust  dis- 
tinguished the  small  suite  of  rooms  placed  at  his 
disposal.  In  the  most  important  of  these,  the  gay 
curtains  of  muslin,  with  silken  draperies,  swept  a  floor 
inlaid  with  varnished  hexagonal  bricks,  and  porcelain 
vases,  painted  in  gaudy  colors  and  crowned  with  faded 
artificial  flowers,  flaunted  on  either  side  of  a  small 
gilded  clock  on  the  mantel.  The  mirror,  that  pride 
of  the  auberge,  in  a  gilded  frame  rather  the  worse 
for  wear,  reflected  these  and  other  treasures,  and  gave 
doubly  to  view  the  small  and  dust-covered  lustre  with 


THE  RESULT  OF  THE  PLOT.  271 

its  glass  drops,  that  indicated  the  best  apartment 
of  the  hotel. 

A  dusty  table  was  hastily  wiped  down  to  receive 
the  clean  linen  cloth  and  napkin,  and  to  accommodate 
a  tray,  which  was  brought  up  with  the  petit  souper 
strongly  recommended  by  Boniface  to  milord.  The 
well  roasted  poulet,  the  small  white  loaf,  the  delicate 
cream  and  butter,  and  the  cafe  au  lait,  all  the  best 
of  their  kind,  bore  testimony  to  the  gastronomic  taste 
of  the  fat  host  and  hostess,  and  at  once  explained  the 
phenomenon  of  two  such  specimens  of  obesity,  rarely 
seen  in  the  same  family. 

Reginald  partook  lightly  of  mine  host's  delicacies, 
•and  determined  that  he  would  sit  up  at  least  until 
midnight,  the  hour  he  had  been  informed  that  the 
travellers,  who  had  arrived  with  him  the  preceding 
evening,  had  indicated  as  the  probable  one  for  the 
continuation  of  their  journey.  The  precautions  he 
had  taken  to  deprive  them  of  the  means  of  travelling 
he  relied  upon  with  confidence,  but  he  knew  not  what 
other  resources  might  be  supplied  by  accomplices,  who 
were,  doubtless,  at  hand  to  complete  the  success  of  a 
plot  contrived  so  far  with  singular  ingenuity. 

His  first  important  step  taken,  Reginald  paused  to 
consider  the  course  he  should  next  pursue  in  unravel- 
ling the  dark  mystery,  which  a  ray  of  light  had  thus 
penetrated.  If  his  surmise  should  not  be  realized,  he 
might  involve  himself  in  serious  difficulties  by  med- 
dling in  a  matter  of  no  ostensible  concernment  to 
him,  and  he  had  no  proof  to  sustain  the  allegation  he 
desired  to  make  against  the  person  calling  herself  the 
aunt  and  protectress  of  the  young  lady  under  her 
charge. 


272  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

But  the  hour  was  now  too  late  to  proceed  farther 
in  the  plan  he  had  revolved  in  his  mind,  and  when 
midnight  came,  feeling  assured,  from  the  quiet  that 
reigned  in  the  house,  that  there  was  no  attempt  to 
remove  the  unhappy  prisoner,  he  retired  to  rest. 

At  an  hour  very  unusual  for  a  young  milord,  who 
might  have  been  excused  for  some  indulgence  after 
the  rapid  journey  of  the  preceding  day,  Reginald 
summoned  a  servant,  and  requested  to  see  the  land- 
lord. Boniface,  now  all  smiles  and  obedience,  hastened 
to  obey  the  summons,  mounted  the  stairs,  and  trundled 
his  corpulency  into  the  room. 

"  I  have  a  matter  of  importance  to  confide  to 
you,"  said  Reginald,  offering  him  a  chair.  "  Sit 
down,  I  will  confer  with  you  about  it." 

The  landlord  modestly  hesitated  to  take  such  a 
liberty  in  the  presence  of  his  noble  customer ;  but 
Reginald  persisted  in  placing  him  at  his  ease,  that  he 
might  better  command  his  attention. 

"  The  young  lady,  and  the  person  calling  herself 
her  aunt,  who  arrived  at  the  same  time  that  I  did 
yesterday  evening,  are  still  here,  I  presume,"  said 
Reginald. 

"  Yes,  milord,"  replied  Boniface,  "  and  my  wife 
has  had  a  bad  night  of  it,  for  they  kept  her  trotting 
about  all  night  after  one  thing  or  other.  I  wish  the 
wind  that  blew  them  here  had  driven  them  elsewhere, 
for  I  fear  me  they  bode  my  house  no  good.  The  poor 
young  lady  is  in  a  sad  state.  The  aunt  talks  of  going 
on  her  journey  to-day,  but  my  wife  thinks  she  will  not 
be  able  to  travel." 

"  It  is  on  this  subject  that  I  wish  to  converse  with 


THE  RESULT  OF  THE  PLOT.  273 

you,"  said  Reginald,  "  and  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
I  have  good  reasons  for  believing  that  this  young 
lady's  account  of  herself  is  true,  find  that  the  one 
given  by  her  companion  is  false.  I  believe  that  she 
is  really,  as  she  avers,  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman, 
and  tKat  she  has  been  stolen  from  her  father  by  this 
woman." 

"  You  have  then  seen  these  persons  before  ?  "  in- 
quired the  landlord. 

"  No,  I  have  never  seen  either  of  them  before, 
and  there  lies  my  difficulty.  I  cannot  declare  posi- 
tively that  the  woman  or  the  young  lady  are  either 
of  them  not  what  the  former  affirms,  yet  I  tell  you 
distinctly  that  I  believe  this  young  person  to  be  the 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  nobleman,  and  that  she  has 
been,  by  some  foul  means,  taken  from  her  father's  pro- 
tection. With  this  suspicion,  and  with  such  testimony 
as  I  can  bring,  it  will  be  dangerous  for  your  house 
and  yourself  to  allow  them  to  depart  without  some 
farther  examination  into  the  circumstances  the  young 
lady  alleges  to  be  the  truth." 

"  Parbleu  !  "  exclaimed  Boniface,  wiping  off  some 
drops  that  had  begun  to  form  on  his  forehead,  while 
Reginald  made  this  avowal  of  his  suspicions,  and  the 
consequences  that  might  result  from  their  confirma- 
tion, "  why,  this  is  a  matter  that  might  send  some 
of  us  to  the  galleys,  if  we  were  mixed  up  in  such  a 
mess ! " 

"  My  advice  then,"  said  Reginald,  "  is,  that  you 
absolve  yourself  as  speedily  as  possible  from  all  re- 
sponsibility, by  engaging  a  justice  of  the  peace  and 
some  police  officers  to  come  quietly  to  the  house,  and 
12* 


274  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

to  remain  here  during  the  morning.  I  will  engage  to 
determine  the  difficulty  and  to  remove  all  doubts,  as 
soon  as  your  son  returns,  which  he  assured  me  would 
be  about  mid-day.  Follow  my  directions  without 
noise,  and  you  will  find,  as  I  believe,  that  my  impres- 
sions will  be  confirmed,  and  you  will  be  relieved  from 
serious  embarrassment." 

"  Parbleu  !  "  again  ejaculated  the  landlord,  and 
again  wiping  his  forehead,  "  but  it  might  be  serious 
indeed !  I  will  use  all  speed,  milord,  to  obey  your 
orders." 

He  trundled  himself  off;  and  in  half  an  hour  Regi- 
nald saw  from  his  windows  several  men  that,  he  knew 
from  their  appearance,  were  officers  of  justice,  crossing 
the  court  and  entering  the  house. 

The  early  hours  of  the  morning  passed  away,  and 
all  remained  quiet.  Reginald,  whose  thoughts  were 
alternately  occupied  with  an  anxiety  to  see  a  happy 
termination  of  the  adventure,  in  which  he  had  acci- 
dentally become  one  of  the  principal  actors,  and  a 
wish  to  continue  his  journey,  walked  about  the  room 
with  some  impatience,  looking  from  time  to  time 
at  the  pendule  placed  on  the  mantel,  evidently  for 
show  rather ,  than  use,  and  then  at  his  faithful  chro- 
nometer. 

The  pendule  struck  twelve,  the  hour  which,  he 
expected,  would  bring  his  messenger.  The  chronom- 
eter contradicted  the  tiny  ringing  voice  of  the  little 
clock.  It  had  rung  out  the  hour  three  quarters  too 
soon. 

At  that  moment  the  portal  of  the  court  opened, 
and  a  post-carriage  drove  rapidly  in.  Reginald  saw 


THE   RESULT    OP   THE   PLOT.  275 

a  man  descend  hastily  from  it.  He  had  only  time  to 
remark  that  this  man  was  not  the  Comte  de  Visconti, 
to  whose  tall  form  and  thoughtful  face  his  attention 
had  once  been  directed  by  Constance  as  the  father  of 
her  young  friend,  the  lovely  Beatrice. 

The  man,  who  had  just  entered  the  house,  was 
many  years  younger,  and  of  a  face  and  stature  alto- 
gether different  from  his  recollection  of  the  count. 
Without  knowing  whether  or  not  this  person  was 
concerned  in  the  abduction  of  the  young  lady,  Regi- 
nald thought  it  most  probable  that  he  was,  and  quit- 
ting his  own  apartment,  he  descended  to  the  more 
public  part  of  the  house. 

He  there  found  the  man  who  had  just  arrived,  and 
the  person  who  had  professed  herself  the  aunt  and 
protectress  of  the  young  lady,  both  expostulating 
angrily  with  the  landlord. 

"  By  what  right,  sir,"  said  this  personage,  whom 
the  reader  doubtless  recognizes  as  Dubourg — "by 
what  right  do  you  dare  to  stop  travellers  on  the  high- 
way in  this  unwarrantable  manner  ?  You  shall  pay 
dearly  for  this  insolence !  Where  is  the  witness  who 
has  ventured  upon  such  accusations  against  this  lady, 
as  well  as  myself?  " 

"  Here,"  answered  Reginald  coolly,  as  he  walked 
forward.  "  I  bring  no  accusations,  and  have  simply 
related  what  I  know  to  the  landlord  of  this  hotel. 
The  young  lady,  who  arrived  here  last  evening  under 
the  charge  of  the  person  with  you,  alleges  that  she  is 
the  daughter  of  the  Comte  de  Visconti,  an  Italian 
nobleman  now  sojourning  in  Paris,  and  that  she  has 
been  stolen  from  her  father.  I  allege  that  I  know 


276  HOME  AND  THE   WOULD. 

there  is  a  wealthy  nobleman  of  that  name  in  the  me- 
tropolis, and  that  he  has  a  young  daughter.  I  have 
advised  the  Comte  de  Yisconti  of  the  circumstances 
that  have  fallen  under  my  observation,  in  order  that 
he  may  reclaim  his  daughter,  if  the  young  lady  here 
is,  as  I  suspect,  that  daughter." 

"  And  in  this  manner,"  said  Dubourg,  turning 
haughtily  from  Reginald,  and  addressing  himself  to 
the  officers  of  justice,  "you  are  to  allow  me  to  be 
stopped  on  my  journey,  one  of  vital  importance,  by 
the  interference  of  a  stranger,  and  one  who  has  no- 
thing to  do  with  my  affairs." 

"  I  require  brief  time,"  said  Reginald,  in  a  tone  as 
haughty  as  the  one  Dubourg  assumed,  "  to  produce 
my  proofs.  If  my  messenger  returns  without  satis- 
factory information,  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  continue 
your  journey,  as  I  shall  mine.  I  repeat  that  I  have 
every  reason  to  expect  the  Comte  de  Yisconti  here 
within  an  hour.  If  you  choose  to  depart  peaceably 
without  the  young  lady,  as  I  have  no  wish  to  signalize 
your  disgrace,  or  to  expose  you  to  the  well-merited 
indignation  of  the  count,  there  is  time  left  for  your 
escape.  I  have  no  right  to  detain  you,  and  I  do  not 
even  know  the  nature  of  the  plan  in  which  you  seem 
involved.  If  your  tale  is  true,  the  loss  of  an  hour  of 
your  time  will  be  well  compensated  by  freeing  you 
from  a  terrible  suspicion." 

Dubourg's  face  turned  livid  with  rage.  He  had 
been  walking  rapidly,  to  and  fro,  like  a  chained  tiger, 
between  the  landlord  and  the  officers  of  justice. 
Approaching  Reginald  closely,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice 
that  sounded  like  the  hissing  of  a  serpent  through 


THE  RESULT  OF  THE  PLOT.          277 

his  clenched  teeth,  "  you  shall  bitterly  repent  this  in- 
terference,— I  know  you,  and  we  shall  meet  again ! 
Then — beware  !  " 

He  turned  to  the  landlord  with  assumed  com- 
posure. 

"  This  is  a  strange  piece  of  work,"  he  said,  "  and 
a  man  who  is  so  pragmatical  as  to  meddle  with  the 
affairs  of  others  without  reason,  deserves  to  be  pun- 
ished for  it.  You  have  all  heard  this  young  gentle- 
man say  that  he  is  willing  to  assume  the  charge  of  a 
lunatic  girl,  the  niece  of  my  sister  and  myself  when 
we  were  about  to  place  her  under  the  direction  of  a 
distinguished  physician,  who  might  have  restored  her 
to  health.  We  shall  leave  her  to  his  charge,  and  that 
of  the  officers  of  justice,  who  have  taken  upon  them- 
selves to  relieve  us  of  our  burthen.  When  you  are 
all  weary  of  it,  we  shah1  probably  be  called  upon  to  re- 
assume  it.  With  regard  to  the  aspersions  that  have 
been  cast  upon  us,  we  shall  seek  redress  where  it  can 
be  more  effectually  found." 

With  these  words,  and  bestowing  one  more  look 
of  deadly  hatred  on  Reginald,  who  returned  it  with 
one  of  calm  defiance,  Dubourg  drew  the  arm  of  Made- 
leine in  his  own,  and  descending  to  the  court,  followed 
her  into  the  post-carriage  that  stood  awaiting  his 
orders,  and  drove  rapidly  off. 

Hardly  had  an  hour  elapsed  after  their  departure, 
before  the  portals  again  opened,  and  another  carriage 
drove  with  furious  speed  into  the  court. 

Reginald  recognized  the  tall  form  and  noble  bear- 
ing of  the  Comte  de  Visconti.  His  voice  was  heard 
on  the  stairway.  In  an  instant  the  loved  and  lost  one 


278  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

flew  to  his  embrace.     Oh,  the  agonizing  rapture  of 
that  moment ! 

Reginald  waited  only  to  see  the  daughter  clasped 
to  her  father's  heart.  When  they  turned  to  pour  out 
their  thanks  to  her  young  deliverer,  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

A     LAST     FAREWELL. 

TIME  and  experience  together  have  united  to 
reveal  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  ancient  capitals  of 
Europe  what  their  descendants,  in  the  hemisphere 
more  recently  populated,  have  yet  to  learn,  that  air 
and  space  are  as  necessary  to  the  existence  of  a  city 
as  they  are  to  human  life. 

It  is  but  poor  economy  to  "build  up  and  pull 
down,"  though  there  is  doubtless  "  a  time  "  for  both. 
But  this  discriminative  wisdom  is  certainly  not  found 
in  the  construction  of  interminable  streets  of  ill-venti- 
lated houses,  built  on  speculation,  and  packing  away 
multitudes  of  pale  sedentary  inhabitants,  whose  only 
hope  of  escape  from  the  prison,  to  which  they  are 
condemned  for  a  year,  is  that  of  a  month's  reprieve, 
passed  at  some  noisy,  fashionable,  uncomfortable 
watering  place. 

Happy  those  who  have  means,  even,  for  this  indul- 
gence. There  are  thousands  to  whom  such  a  luxury 
is  denied ;  and  they  still  drag  on  their  wearied  exist- 
ence "  in  populous  cities  pent,"  advancing,  by  slow 
degrees,  literally  to  "  dusty  death." 


280  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

New  cities  begin  by  closing  up  every  avenue  to 
health  and  life,  and  end  by  purchasing,  at  the  cost  of 
millions,  what,  in  their  first  creation,  they  might  have 
secured  for  nothing, — the  lungs  indispensable  to  both. 
The  capitals  of  the  old  world  have,  doubtless,  passed 
through  this  ordeal,  and  at  the  present  day  it  is  mar- 
vellous to  see  how  much  of  the  loveliness  of  nature 
may  be  found  in  the  midst  of  those  great  cities. 

The  revolving  year  had  again  brought  round  the 
month  of  May,  with  its  buds  and  blossoms,  to  revive 
the  freshness  of  the  gardens,  the  most  pleasing  feature 
of  the  metropolis  of  France.  Those  of  the  Faubourg 
St.  Germain,  united,  rather  than  separated,  by  walls 
invisible  to  the  eye,  from  their  impervious  covering  of 
ivy,  conveyed  the  impression  of  extensive  grounds; 
and  neighboring  houses  were  completely  concealed 
from  the  view  of  each  other  by  the  leafy  screens  of 
trees,  clothed  with  their  tender  verdure,  that  rose  in 
soft  masses  between  them. 

For  a  distant  promenade,  the  Luxembourg,  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  the  never-failing  resource  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  the  Champs  Elys6es,  vary  the 
morning  or  evening  drive.  For  a  convenient  walk, 
the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  is  always  the  favorite. 

The  peculiar  taste  of  this  garden,  like  that  of  Ver- 
sailles on  which  the  Grand  Monarque  lavished  so  many 
millions,  will  always  be  a  subject  of  criticism,  but  who 
will  venture  to  affirm  that  both  are  not  beautiful  in 
the  month  of  May  ?  If  they  are  angular,  and  pomp- 
ous, and  formal  in  design,  yet  even  where  the  artist 
still  shapes  arches  and  colonnades  out  of  the  foliage, 
nature  in  her  redundant  beauty  effaces  his  work, 


A   LAST   FAKE  WELL.  281 

breaking  through  all  restraint,  and  giving  freshness 
and  shade  and  brightness  and  perfume,  wherever  she 
finds  her  joyous  home. 

The  gigantic  marronniers  of  the  Tuileries,  if  their 
trunks  are  planted  with  quincunx  regularity,  find  free- 
dom in  their  huge  interlacing  branches  above,  and  in 
the  foliage  that  forms  an  impervious  shade  beneath  ; 
the  parterres  of  flowers,  if  they  are  laid  off  with 
geometrical  precision,  have,  within  their  bounds,  all 
the  variety  of  coloring  and  form  that  nature  can  lend 
to  art.  The  saucy  little  sparrows  are  as  much  at 
home  among  the  elms  trimmed  into  arches  like  a 
Gothic  cathedral,  as  if  they  were  in  the  grounds  of  a 
citizen's  country-box, — the  fishes  frisk  in  their  basins, 
as  merrily  as  the  trout  in  a  mountain  stream,  though 
their  scales  are  golden,  and  their  habitation  is  encircled 
with  marble  walls.  The  children  of  the  artisan  and 
the  laborer  trundle  their  hoops  and  dance  as  gayly  to 
the  music  of  their  nurses'  songs,  as  those  of  the  princes 
who  watch  their  sports  from  the  windows  of  the  palace 
that  overlook  the  scene. 

"  Comparisons,"  Mrs.  Malaprop  might  truly  have 
said  "  are  odorous  "  wherever  nature  can  exercise  her 
sweet  influences ;  and  art  may  'regulate,  but  cannot 
destroy,  her  charms.  A  comparison  between  Ver- 
sailles and  a  Swiss  valley,  or  the  Tuileries  and  an  Eng- 
lish park,  would  be  as  fruitless  and  unreasonable  as  to 
draw  a  parallel  between  the  costume  of  a  marquise  of 
the  court  of  Louis  Quinze  and  that  of  the  "  Hours  " 
of  Guido ;  both  depend  for  success  on  the  natural 
beauties  they  adorn. 

The  return  of  spring  had  now  restored  nature  to 


282  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

her  dominion  in  the  metropolis,  and  the  pale  votaries 
of  dissipation  gratefully  exchanged  the  heated  ball- 
room for  fates  de  jour,  which  involved  less  fatigue 
and  restraint.  These  assumed  the  favorite  form  of 
the  dejeuner,  though,  in  some  instances,  the  breakfast 
was  offered  at  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
guests  remained  until  tnidnight,  if  they  were  disposed 
to  partake  of  the  dance  that  succeeded  the  breakfast, 
or  to  indulge  in  an  evening  ramble  through  an  illumi- 
nated garden. 

Of  this  description  was  one  offered,  during  the 
season,  by  the  hospitable  and  distinguished  occupants 
of  "the  Embassy"  in  the  rue  St.  Honor6,  known 
throughout  the  metropolis  by  this  apparently  exclu- 
sive title,  though  one  merited  by  its  pre-eminence  in 
seniority  as  well  as  style. 

The  sunlight  had  ceased  to  gild  the  trees  around 
the  tapis  vert  of  velvet  turf  in  the  garden,  and  the 
guests  were  returning  from  their  rambles  toward  the 
ball-room, — their  gossamer  dresses,  and  bright  scarfs, 
and  transparent  hats,  with  light  plumes  fluttering, 
appearing  and  disappearing,  among  the  trees  and 
shrubbery,  and  giving  added  life  and  beauty  to  their 
natural  charms. 

A  few  colored  lamps  glittered  among  the  foliage, 
and  served  rather  to  ornament,  than  to  illuminate,  the 
walks  of  the  garden,  giving  a  mysterious  light  that 
heightened  the  illusion  of  the  long  imaginary  distance 
to  which  they  extended. 

The  lively  music  of  the  orchestra  hastened  the 
steps  of  the  wanderers  through  these  pleasing  shades ; 
they  disappeared  by  pairs  into  the  domain  of 


A   LAST  FAREWELL.  283 

Comus.  A  few  only,  who  seemed  to  find  the  fresh 
evening  air  more  to  their  taste  than  the  melting 
glories  of  the  ball-room,  still  lingered,  as  if  unwilling 
to  exchange  certain  enjoyment  for  no  less  certain  dis- 
comfort. 

In  these  groups  were  several  ladies,  among  them 
Mrs.  Melville  and  Constance.  Captain  Delamere  had 
joined  the  walking,  instead  of  the  dancing,  party. 

"  Such  a  scene  as  this,"  he  said  to  Constance,  "  is 
well  suited  to  increase  the  regret  I  feel  in  abandoning 
the  haunts  of  civilized  men,  and  exchanging  them  for 
the  jungles  of  India." 

"  But  we  have  lions  here,  you  perceive,  to  match 
the  tigers  in  those  jungles,"  said  Constance,  looking 
archly  after  a  German  duke  who  bowed  as  he  passed 
them,  and  whose  gorgeous  dress  was  in  keeping  with 
his  curled  wig,  rouged  cheeks,  and  other  imitations 
of  youth  long  gone  among  other  wasted  and  regretted 
things. 

"  The  lions  and  tigers  are,  perhaps,  the  most  inter- 
esting portion  of  the  native  population  of  my  adopted 
land,"  said  Captain  Delamere,  "  and  a  hunt  is  one  of 
the  few  enjoyments  afforded  to  the  dull  monotony 
of  our  existence.  But  why  should  I  dwell  on  a  theme 
which  can  give  me  nothing  but  unmingled  pain  ?  " 

"  I  can  well  imagine  it,"  replied  Constance,  "  by 
the  feelings  I  should  myself,  doubtless,  experience  in 
such  sad  circumstances,  though  they  are  not  liable  to 
the  test  yours  are  compelled  to  endure.  Let  us 
change  the  subject ;  there  can  surely  be  found  a  gayer 
one  in  so  pleasant  a  place  and  company." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Captain  Delamere,  "  I  find  it  im- 


284  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

possible  to  drive  sad  realities  from  my  thoughts. 
This  is  the  last  day  of  my  sojourn  among  my  friends, — 
I  leave  them  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow?"  said  Constance  sorrowfully,  "I 
thought  you  informed  us  that  your  stay  would  be 
prolonged  some  months.  I  can,  indeed,  well  imagine 
that  you  should  think  of  your  departure  even  in  the 
midst  of  this  gay  scene,  and  that  you  should  be  sad 
in  the  contemplation  of  so  painful  an  event." 

"  In  my  departure,  which  I  have  received  orders 
to  hasten,"  said  Captain  Delamere,  "  I  shall  have  at 
least  one  consolation, — that  I  shall  not  leave  any  heart 
behind  me  as  heavy  as  my  own.  Sympathies  are  tran- 
sient in  this  world, — I  and  my  grief  will  soon  be  for- 
gotten." 

"  Do  not  speak  so  mournfully,"  said  Constance, 
"  you  have  kind  friends  who  will  always  remember 
you  in  spite  of  absence  and  distance." 

Captain  Delamere  glanced  at  the  lovely  counte- 
nance of  the  speaker,  as  she  fervently  uttered  these 
words ;  but  its  expression  was  the  candid,  ingenuous 
one  of  unsuspecting  kindness  and  friendship;  there 
was  no  embarrassment — nothing  that  indicated  a  ten- 
derer, stronger  feeling. 

He  sighed  deeply  as  he  replied — "  Why  should  I 
repine  at  a  lot  to  which  so  many  of  fairer  promise 
than  mine  have  been  doomed  ?  Miss  Melville,  shall 
I  confess  it  ? — there  have  been  moments  when  I  dared 
to  hope  that  a  stronger  feeling,  than  sympathy  in  my 
exile,  might  be  awakened  in  a  heart  that  would  have 
been  to  me  more  precious  than  all  the  treasures  '  of 
Ormus  and  of  Ind.'  And  even  now,  when  I  read  that 


A   LAST   FAKEWELL.  285 

heart  in  its  own  ingenuous  mirror,  and  find  nothing 
there  but  friendship,  I  feel  impelled  to  offer  you  a  sol- 
dier's heart  and  hand,  and  life,  and  fortunes.  Oh  that 
these  wild  hopes  might  be  realized  !  " 

He  glanced  again  at  the  sweet  face.  It  spoke  the 
same  language  that  had  dashed  those  hopes ;  but  a  tear 
was  stealing  down  her  cheek. 

"  I  trust,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  not  been  guilty 
of  adding  yet  another  sorrow  to  that  you  feel  in 
leaving  your  home  and  friends.  Oh  !  Captain  Dela- 
mere,  do  not,  I  entreat  you,  believe  that  I  could  have 
been  so  heartless  as  to — to — " 

Her  voice  was  extinguished  by  emotion. 

"  I  know  but  too  well  what  you  would  say,"  replied 
Captain  Delamere.  "  Do  not  suppose  for  a  moment 
that  I  blame  you  for  what  is  only  the  consequence  of 
your  own  attractive  loveliness.  In  making  this  decla- 
ration I  knew  what  the  result  would  be,  but  I  have 
yielded  to  the  impulse  of  an  irresistible  feeling.  When 
I  am  far  away,  think  of  me  sometimes  as  one  who  will 
never  forget  you.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  we  shall 
never  meet  again.  Farewell !  "  he  said,  pressing  her 
hand  to  his  lips,  "  farewell — and — forever  !  " 

He  advanced  a  few  steps, — turned,  looked  at  her 
once  more,  and  was  gone.  He  had  spoken  prophetic 
truth, — they  never  met  again ! 

As  the  rest  of  the  lingering  party  gradually  entered 
the  fine  conservatory  leading  from  the  garden,  and 
which  was  sufficiently  lighted  to  give  a  pleasing  effect 
to  the  varieties  of  tropical  plants  that  adorned  it,  Mrs. 
Melville  turned  to  Constance,  who  touched  her  arm 
at  that  moment.  Constance  was  as  pale  as  marble, 


286  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

and  the  hand  that  rested  on  her  arm  was  cold  and 
trembling  with  strong  emotion. 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  ill, — 
what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  feel  faint  and  weary,"  replied  Constance,  "  and 
if  you  please,  my  dear  mother,  I  should  like  to  return 
home  as  speedily  as  possible." 

The  moment  was  a  favorable  one  for  a  retreat,  for 
the  noble  hosts  and  their  guests  were  equally  engaged 
hi  renewing  the  pleasures  of  the  fete.  They  found  no 
difficulty  in  accomplishing  their  exit,  as  their  carriage 
was  in  waiting,  and  they  were  soon  at  home. 

Alone  with  her  dearest  earthly  friend,  Constance 
threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms.  That  ever 
sympathizing  friend  clasped  her  child  to  her  heart. 

"  Sit  down  and  compose  yourself,  my  daughter," 
said  Mrs.  Melville,  drawing  Constance  toward  her,  as 
she  seated  herself  on  a  sofa,  and  laid  the  throbbing 
head  of  her  daughter  on  her  bosom.  "  Now  tell  me 
what  is  the  cause  of  these  tears  that  flow  so  freely," 
and  she  wiped  them  tenderly  away. 

"  Dearest  mother  !  "  replied  Constance,  "  my  tears 
are  partly  caused  by  something  like  self-reproach.  I 
fear  that  my  pleasure  in  meeting  Captain  Delamere  as 
a  friend,  that  the  unsuspecting  kindness  with  which  I 
have  conversed  with  him,  may  have  been  misconstrued 
by  him,  though  he  was  too  generous  to  blame  me. 
But  indeed,  indeed  I  never  dreamed,  until  this  mo- 
ment, that  he  entertained  any  deeper  sentiment  toward 
me  than  that  of  kindness  and  friendship.  And  oh, 
mother ! — the  sad  idea  that  I,  innocent  as  I  feel  my- 
self of  such  a  design,  should  have  added  one  more 


A    LAST   FAREWELL.  287 

pang  to  that  noble  heart,  when  he  was  leaving  home, 
and  country,  and  friends,  to  be,  as  he  says,  a  desolate 
exile,  and  that  we  shall  never  see  him  more ! "  and 
she  wept  without  restraint. 

"  My  child,"  said  her  mother,  "  your  sympathy  is 
natural,  and  I  honor  the  sentiments  you  express.  But 
I  have  always  been  a  witness  of  your  conduct,  and  I 
can  console  you  by  the  assurance  that  there  has  been 
nothing  in  it  for  you  to  blame.  Captain  Delamere,  in 
this  respect,  accorded  you  only  what  justice  demand- 
ed. If  kindness  on  our  part  led  to  an  error  on  his,  I 
have  been  more  to  blame  than  you  have  in  the  atten- 
tions we  have  shown  him.  But  I  am  satisfied  that  he 
could  not  have  intended  to  reproach  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  exonerated  me  from  the  re- 
proach  I  was  disposed  to  take  on  myself,"  said  Con- 
stance. "  But  I  feel  very,  very  sad.  And  then,  dearest 
mother,  what  can  be  the  meaning  of  Reginald's  sudden 
departure.?  Gone  without  a  word  of  explanation, — 
oh,  mother !  do  you  know,  I  thought  Reginald  loved — 
liked  me — I  mean,  too  well  to  act  in  so  strange  a 
manner.  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  cause  of  it  all  ?  " 

"  There  is  some  mystery  in  Reginald's  conduct 
that  I  am  at  a  loss  to  comprehend,"  said  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville, "  though  long  acquaintance  with  the  world  has 
given  me  some  insight  into  the  human  heart.  The 
most  obvious  cause,  I  believe,  may  be  found  in  con- 
nection with  Captain  Delamere's  attentions  to  you,  for 
Reginald  was  certainly  not  himself  the  last  time  we 
saw  him,  which,  as  you  remember,  was  at  the  Louvre 
the  day  we  first  met  Captain  Delamere.  But  I  have 
a  presentiment  that  this  riddle,  whatever  it  may  be, 


288  HOME  AND  THE   WOULD. 

will  sooner  or  later  be  read.  Reginald,  even  if  he 
thinks  he  has  cause  to  feel  aggrieved,  which  it  seems 
he  has  not,  will  return  as  surely  as  a  moth  returns  to 
the  light  that  he  has  been  fluttering  around,  until  the 
tips  of  his  wings  are  not  only  singed,  but  blazing  in  a 
little  flame  kindled  by  that  same  light. 

"  Good  night,  dearest,"  she  added,  kissing  the  fair 
brow  and  cheek.  "  Try  to  sleep  off  these  first  griefs. 
The  clouds  that  have  cast  their  sombre  shadows  over 
your  path  this  evening  will  soon  be  dispelled.  When 
4  fair  morning '  returns  in  her  c  amice  gray,'  she  will 
restore  the  joyous  light,  and  point  with  her  'radiant 
finger '  to  brighter  and  happier  hours  than  these. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ROYAL     DISGUISES. 

THE  arrival  in  the  metropolis  of  the  king  and 
queen  of  Naples,  the  parents  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Berri,  mother  of  the  heir  of  the  throne,  the  young 
Henri  V.,  restored  the  gayety  that  had  begun  to  lan- 
guish under  the  enervating  influences  of  spring.  The 
charms  of  reviving  nature  and  vernal  airs,  though  in 
striking  contrast  with  the  artificial  glories  and  heated 
atmosphere  of  crowded  assemblies,  were  not  sufficient- 
ly attractive  to  supersede  them,  especially  when  so 
plausible  an  excuse  for  renewing  their  favorite  amuse- 
ments was  offered  to  the  gay  world. 

In  order  to  dispense  as  far  as  possible  with  the 
courtly  ceremonials  which,  the  regal  guests  probably 
knew  from  experience,  would,  at  such  a  season,  confer 
as  little  real  enjoyment  on  the  receivers  of  these 
splendid  courtesies  as  on  the  givers,  they  assumed 
fictitious  names.  The  Count  and  Countess  of  Castel- 
lamare,  as  their  majesties  chose  to  style  themselves, 
were  with  these  comparatively  simple  titles  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  courtly  circles. 

But  this  self-denying  modesty  was  unavailing. 
13 


290  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

The  politeness  of  the  reigning  sovereign  was  not  to 
be  so  easily  baffled,  and  the  Neapolitan  king  and 
queen  were  so  easily  recognized  beneath  their  unpre- 
tending titles  as  to  recall  the  trite  comparison  of  the 
ostrich  when  her  head  is  buried  in  the  sand,  vainly 
hoping  that  the  hunter  will  not  discover  her  because 
she  cannot  see  him. 

It  would  indeed  have  required  but  little  skill  to 
conceal  his  Majesty,  as  a  very  small,  a  very  old,  and 
a  very  insignificant  looking  man,  as  he  was,  might  have 
passed  in  any  crowd  for  something  less  than  the  Count 
of  Castellamare.  His  regal  consort  it  would  have 
been  more  difficult  to  disguise,  or  to  pass  off  for  any 
one  but  herself  to  those  who  had  ever  beheld  or  even 
heard  of  her.  With  such  as  were  acquainted  with 
her  appearance,  it  would  have  been  hardly  possible  to 
realize  any  thing  either  of  majesty  or  nobility  in  a 
huge  misshapen  mass  of  humanity  that  had  lost,  in  her 
excessive  obesity,  not  only  every  trace  of  comeliness, 
if  she  had  ever  possessed  any,  but  almost  all  sem- 
blance of  a  being  with  a  soul.  But  these  disadvan- 
tages availed  as  little  to  seclude  the  royal  pair,  as  did 
the  modest  names  assumed  for  the  occasion  of  their 
visit. 

The  Count  and  Countess  of  Castellamare,  inhabit- 
ing the  small  but  elegant  palace  of  the  filysee  Bour- 
bon, received  circle  after  circle  of  the  elite,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  wishes  of  the  sovereign  who  claimed 
them  as  his  guests  ;  and  this  ceremony  completed,  th.e 
gayeties  of  the  court  were  resumed  with  unusual 
magnificence. 

The  jeu  du  Roi,  which  united  all  that  was  brill- 


EOYAL   DISGUISES.  291 

iant  in  the  circle  of  the  Palace,  was  the  introductory 
one  of  these  fetes.  The  king's  card  party,  though  it 
boasted  of  small  attractions  in  natural  charms,  or  in 
youth  and  beauty,  brought  together  gold  embroidery 
and  diamonds  enough  to  illuminate  the  gorgeous 
Salle  des  Marechaux  and  the  Galerie  de  Diane  of  the 
Tuileries,  even  without  the  aid  of  the  lustres  that 
threw  floods  of  light  over  the  brilliant  scene. 

The  King  of  Naples,  coughing  and  hobbling  around 
the  circles  of  trained  and  courtly  ladies,  merited,  as  he 
received,  their  thanks  for  the  exertions  he  made  with 
such  visible  inconvenience,  to  do  honor  to  the  atten- 
tions he  received.  His  illustrious  consort  waddling 
around,  with  a  strange  smile  upon  her  broad  unmean- 
ing face,  panted  and  puffed  beneath  the  weight  of  the 
richly  jewelled  diadem,  as  if  it  had  been  a  crown  of 
thorns. 

There  again  sat  the  daughter  of  the  unfortunate 
Louis  XVI.  Thoughtful  and  abstracted  she  sat,  re- 
volving dark  memories  of.  the  terrible  past — fore- 
shadowing dreamy  visions  of  the  bitter  future — silent, 
solemn,  and  sad. 

To  this  courtly  fete  succeeded,  after  an  interval  of 
a  few  days,  representations  at  the  theatre  of  the 
Tuileries,  where  the  gorgeous  attire  of  the  spectators 
formed  in  itself  a  spectacle  independently  of  the  stage. 
There  the  sylphide  Taglioni,  in  all  her  youthful  pride, 
balanced  her  airy  form  like  a  butterly  on  a  rose-leaf, 
or  flew  with  visible  or  invisible  wings  amid  clouds, 
where  "  the  moon  walking  in  brightness,  looked  like 
her  own  silvery  majesty. 

These  festivals,  and  such  as  these,  occupied  the  gay 


292  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

evenings  in  rapid  succession  during  the  visit  of  the 
Count  and  Countess  of  Castellamare,  until  the  final 
bouquet,  the  title  accorded  to  the  magnificent  fete  of 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  at  his  residence,  the  Palais  Royal, 
closed  the  dazzling  procession. 

Art  had  been  exhausted  in  preparations  for  this 
fete,  which  was  intended  to  surpass  all  that  had  pre- 
ceded it.  Nature  lent  her  aid,  for  the  long  gallery, 
which  surrounded  the  whole  garden,  had  been  itself 
converted  into  a  garden,  and  was  filled  with  exotic 
plants,  among  which  festoons  of  lamps  of  gorgeous 
hues  glowed  with  prismatic  beauty.  The  palace  with- 
in and  without,  the  galleries  and  the  garden,  were 
blazing  with  light ;  the  orchestras,  placed  at  sufficient 
intervals  not  to  disturb  the  harmony  of  each  other, 
invited  the  dancers  to  their  gay  sport,  and  the  rich 
perfume  of  the  orange-blossoms,  wafted  in  at  the  open 
windows  and  doors,  completed  the  fascination  of 
every  sense. 

The  company  equalled  in  brilliancy  the  prepara- 
tions so  lavishly  made  for  their  reception  and  enter- 
tainment, and  surpassed  that  of  the  fetes  which  had 
preceded  it,  greatly  in  numbers,  as  no  exclusion  of  the 
young  and  lovely  had  been  made  in  the  invitations 
that  had  been  distributed  with  an  unsparing  hand. 

It  was  this  occasion  that  the  Comte  de  Yisconti  had 
selected  as  the  one  which  would  be  most  pleasing,  to 
present  his  fair  daughter  to  the  fashionable  world. 
The  exposure  of  the  infamous  plot,  which  had  so  nearly 
robbed  him  of  his  dearest  treasure,  had  exercised  a 
salutary  influence  over  his  fortunes.  Dubourg,  whose 
cunning  had  been  sufficient  to  conceal  the  nefarious 


KOYAL   DISGUISES.  293 

scheme  from  Victor  and  his  kinsman,  had  not  escaped, 
however,  without  strong  suspicions  on  their  part,  which 
completely  withdrew  their  friendship  and  countenance 
from  him,  though  the  testimony  against  him  was  not 
sufficient  to  consign  him  to  the  disgrace  and  punish- 
ment he  so  justly  merited. 

But  he  was  disarmed  by  these  suspicions  of  the 
power  of  farther  mischief  against  Beatrice,  and  the 
mysterious  influences,  which  had  darkened  the  fortunes 
of  her  father,  were  dispelled  by  the  discovery  of  his 
treachery.  The  count  was  at  length  convinced  that 
the  safety  of  his  child  would  have  been  better  assured 
if  she  had  been  more  accustomed  to  act  for  herself, 
and  had  been  surrounded  with  less  restraint.  He  re- 
solved in  future  to  pursue  a  different  plan  from  the  one 
he  had  adopted  in  secluding  her  entirely  from  the 
world,  and  that  he  would  permit  her  to  judge  of  it 
more  for  herself,  when  she  could  do  so  under  favor- 
able auspices. 

The  count  willingly  yielded  to  the  persuasions  of 
his  daughter  to  accompany  her  young  friend  Con- 
stance on  this  interesting  occasion,  and  Mrs.  Melville 
was  happy  to  assume  the  charge  of  both. 

A  lovelier  pair  was  never  seen  than  these  two 
when,  arrayed  in  their  favorite  robes  of  transparent 
white,  they  met,  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
fete,  to  compare  with  youthful  interest  the  costumes 
they  had  selected,  and  which  were  so  nearly  alike 
that  the  wearers  might  have  passed  for  sisters.  There 
was,  strictly  speaking,  no  resemblance  between  them, 
yet  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say  which  was  the 
loveliest — Beatrice  in  her  regular  classical  outline  of 


294  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

face  and  form,  or  Constance  in  the  varied  charms  of 
her  expression,  and  the  graceful  beauty  of  every 
movement,  glance,  and  smile. 

At  an  hour  earlier  than  usual  they  departed  for 
the  Palais  Royal,  and  had  hardly  crossed  the  Place 
du  Carrousel,  when  a  dense  crowd  surrounded  their 
carriages  through  which  it  appeared  almost  impos- 
sible to  penetrate.  In  vain  the  privileged  of  the 
long  and  slowly-moving  file  pleaded  the  authority  of 
their  laissez  passer^  and  attempted  to  advance ;  it 
was  literally  and  physically  impossible.  The  curiosity 
of  the  populace  had  been  thoroughly  aroused  to  see 
something  of  an  entertainment  in  which  they  felt  a 
certain  interest,  from  the  popularity  of  the  princely 
host,  and  of  which  they  had  heard  and  seen  details,  in 
anticipation,  that  equalled  in  marvels  all  they  had  ever 
heard  or  read  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights." 

The  heterogeneous  multitude  threw  themselves 
around  every  vehicle  that  passed,  in  spite  of  the 
warnings  of  the  gens  d'armes,  who  in  vain  attempted 
to  keep  them  at  bay.  They  mounted  even  upon  the 
wheels,  peering  curiously  at  the  persons  within,  as  the 
equipages  slowly  passed,  and  paused,  while  traversing 
the  whole  length  of  the  streets  leading  to  the  ducal 
residence. 

"  This  is  fearful,"  said  Beatrice  to  Constance,  with 
a  shudder,  as  a  woman  more  bold  than  the  rest 
of  the  crowd  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  sprung 
on  the  wheel  of  the  carriage,  and  looked  in  daringly 
and  admiringly  at  her  and  her  young  companion. 
"  These  savage-looking  creatures  quite  terrify  me.  I 
marvel  at  your  composure ! " 


ROYAL   DISGUISES.  295 

"  It  is  very  unpleasant  to  be  gazed  at  by  them  in 
this  manner,  I  confess,"  replied  Constance,  "  and 
their  bronzed  and  hardened  features  remind  one  of 
the  days  of  the  revolution,  when  such  women,  as  his- 
tory records,  were  often  the  chief  actors  in  the  trage- 
dies of  that  unhappy  period.  I  trust  we  shall  soon 
be  relieved  from  this  uncomfortable  condition,  for  it 
is  any  thing  rather  than  agreeable.  May  we  not  draw 
down  the  curtains,  dear  mother,  and  prevent  this  im- 
pertinent scrutiny  ?  " 

She  was  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  when  her 
mother  gently  stopped  her  hand. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  but  fair  to  exclude  this  pry- 
ing curiosity,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  but  there  seems 
to  be  a  settled  purpose  on  the  part  of  the  multitude 
to  have  their  own  share  of  the  entertainment ;  and  I 
should  really  have  some  apprehensions  that  such  a 
movement  might  provoke  them,  in  their  disappoint- 
ment, to  break  the  glasses  (accidentally  they  would 
call  it),  by  way  of  revenge.  It  is  safer  to  be  patient, 
disagreeable  as  the  alternative  is.  I  trust  our  journey 
is  now  near  its  conclusion." 

"  How  very  savage  some  of  these  people  look !  " 
exclaimed  Beatrice.  "How  entirely  different  from 
any  thing  we  see  in  civilized  crowds.  The  rough 
and  toil-stained  aspect  of  the  men  one  can  pardon,  as 
in  their  sordid  occupations  they  cannot  well  avoid  it. 
But  to  see  such  women,  is  indeed  terrible." 

"  The  Dames  de  la  Halle?  replied  Constance,  "  as 
I  suppose  some  of  them  are,  in  their  present  condition, 
are  certainly  shocking  specimens  of  the  softer  sex ; 
and  these  market-women  seem  to  be  as  celebrated 


296  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

here  as  the  ladies  of  Billingsgate,  who  serve  so  often 
to  adorn  a  proverb  if  not  '  a  tale.'  Neither  do  much 
honor  to  the  refined  civilization  of  the  countries  they 
inhabit." 

"  The  world,  we  may  hope,  is  gradually  growing 
more  conscious  of  its  faults  as  well  as  of  its  wants," 
said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  and  we  may  hope  that  in  process 
of  time  even  these  ladies,  or  at  least  their  successors, 
may  be  civilized.  The  great  are  happily  becoming 
daily  more  sensible  of  the  dangers  of  ignorance  and 
its  attending  vices,  and  interest  may  effect  what  phi- 
lanthropy alone  vainly  tries  to  teach.  A  mass  of 
servile  ignorance  is  a  reproach  to  any  country,  though 
unfortunately  all  have  to  bear  the  burden  in  some 
form  or  other.  It  is  only  by  elevating  those  below 
them,  and  enabling  them  to  fulfil  properly  the  duties 
of  their  station,  that  the  great  can  hope  to  escape 
what  would  otherwise  be  the  terrible  consequences  of 
their  own  indolence  and  neglect." 

"But  there  is  an  air  of  ferocity  and  hardihood 
about  these  people,"  said  Beatrice,  as  she  again 
shrunk  from  their  bold  gaze,  "that  is  alarming  to 
one  as  little  accustomed  to  see  them  in  crowds  as  I 
am.  It  is  really  revolting  to  me !  " 

"  And  yet,"  said  Constance,  "  there  may  be  among 
them  some  that  are  better  than  they  appear,  and  who 
would  be  marvellously  changed  by  kindness  and  civil- 
ization. We  have  recently  experienced  an  instance 
of  this.  You  saw  me  yesterday  speaking  to  the  gar- 
dener who  so  tenderly  watches  over  my  favorite 
flowers  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Beatrice,  "and. I  was  pleased  to 


ROYAL  DISGUISES.  297 

see  the  deferential  manner  in  which  he  listened  to  your 
instructions  about  them.  But  he  is  quite  a  different 
person  from  those  we  see  here.  He  looks  always 
clean  and  cheerful  and  healthy,  and  seems  to  be  par- 
ticularly respectful." 

"  And  yet  poor  Antoine  was  as  wretched  a  sample 
of  humanity  as  any  of  these,"  said  Constance,  "  when 
we  first  knew  him  last  winter ;  but  we  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  him  some  kindness,  and  it  has  left 
the  traces  you  have  remarked." 

"  We  have  fallen  into  a  philanthropical  and  philo- 
sophical discussion,"  said  Mrs.  Melville  smiling.  "  The 
gay  crowds  assembling  at  the  Palais  Royal  little  know 
what  wise  heads  are  about  to  appear  among  them  on 
such  fair  young  shoulders.  But  here  we  are  at  last, 
within  the  court  of  the  palace.  It  is  indeed  illumi- 
nated with  unusual  brilliancy ! " 

They  passed  around  the  court  and  entered  the 
palace,  where  hundreds,  it  might  be  said  thousands, 
of  splendidly  attired  persons  were  filling  every  room 
of  the  long  and  magnificent  suite. 

"  You  have  not  yet  been  presented  to  the  duchess 
and  her  lovely  family,  I  think  you  told  us,"  said  Con- 
stance to  Beatrice,  as  they  ascended  the  stairway. 

"  No,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  I  have  never  seen  them, 
though  I  have  often  heard  my  father  expatiate  on 
their  charms,  especially  those  of  the  second  daughter 
of  the  duke,  for  whom  my  father  has  a  peculiar  ad- 
miration, as  she  has  devoted  herself  to  sculpture,  an 
art  of  which  he  is  so  passionately  fond." 

They  passed  on,  and  entered  the  rooms.  The 
duke  and  duchess,  surrounded  by  their  family,  stood 
13* 


298  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

in  the  principal  salon  to  receive  their  guests.  With 
graceful  and  distinguishing  courtesy,  they  welcomed 
the  group  that  now  advanced  toward  them.  In  the 
tall  and  elegant  young  cavalier  who  had  accompanied 
her  lovely  friend,  Marie,  on  her  first  visit,  Beatrice 
recognized  the  Duke  de  Chartres,  the  eldest  son  of 
the  Duke  of  Orleans.  His  second  daughter  met  her 
with  the  sweet  smile  that  chased  away  the  pensive 
expression  of  her  dark  eyes.  Beatrice  beheld  her 
gentle  incognita  friend  in — the  Princess  Marie  ! 

This  happy  discovery  effectually  banished  the  tre- 
pidation with  which  the  lovely  Beatrice  had  entered 
on  a  scene  so  new  to  her,  and  the  evening  was  one  of 
unmixed  enjoyment  to  the  young  persons  who  parti- 
cipated in  its  pleasures.  Some  of  those  who  had  seen 
more  of  life,  appeared  less  fascinated. 

"  This  heated  atmosphere  cannot  be  very  salutary 
for  one  so  delicate  as  yourself,  madame,"  said  Mrs. 
Melville,  to  a  lady  of  high  rank,  who  seemed  greatly 
fatigued,  and  had  sunk  for  repose  upon  the  sofa  on 
which  she  had  taken  a  seat. 

"  Ah,  ma  chere !  "  she  replied,  "  what  can  one  do  ? 
It  is  easier  to  come  and  see  this  splendid  fete  myself, 
than  to  stay  at  home  to  receive  the  visits  and  condo- 
lence of  all  my  acquaintance,  who,  perceiving  that  I 
was  not  here,  would  charitably  come  en  masse  to 
fatigue  me  still  more  by  giving  me  a  description  of 
the  glories  I  had  missed." 

The  favorite  amusement  of  the  evening  was  found 
in  making  what  was  styled  the  grand  tour,  the  prom- 
enade around  the  long  gallery  filled  with  exotic 
flowers  and  illuminated  with  colored  lamps.  The 


KOYAL   DISGUISES.  299 

sovereigns  of  France  and  Naples,  with  their  respec- 
tive suites,  led  the  way,  and  paused  a  moment  to  look 
on  the  strange  spectacle  that  offered  itself  to  their 
view  in  the  garden  below  them. 

In  that  garden  no  less  than  forty  thousand  of  the 
populace,  availing  themselves  of  the  privilege  granted 
them,  had  assembled;  and  the  upturned  features, 
though  not  plainly  discernible  by  the  illumination  of 
the  lamps,  were  sufficiently  revealed  to  give  them  a 
sinister  and  unpleasant  effect.  No  hearty  cries  of 
"  Vive  le  Roi ! "  greeted  the  appearance  of  their  sove- 
reign,— but  a  deep  low  murmur  was  heard  among 
that  mighty  mass,  like  the  muttering  of  thunder  be- 
fore the  approaching  storm. 

What  were  the  ominous  words  that  reached  the 
ear  of  majesty,  though  thus  muttered  rather  than  ex- 
pressed ?  Those  words  were — "A  bas  les  Bourbons!  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

NINA— A    CATASTROPHE. 

AN  ingenious  and  spirited  writer  has  recently 
made  some  remarks  on  the  metropolis  of  France, 
which  merit  a  more  enduring  form  than  the  ephe- 
meral one  graced  by  his  lively  pen.  He  justly  ob- 
serves that  this  city  has  so  often  been  described  by 
scribbling  travellers,  under  its  various  aspects  of  noon, 
afternoon,  evening  and  night,  that  people  are  as  well 
acquainted  with  Paris,  as  the  white-armed  Helen  was 
with  its  namesake. 

"  But,"  he  adds,  "  we  have  never  heard  of  Paris 
in  the  morning,  undressed,  unshaven,  uncurled  and 
uncomfortable,  for  the  simple  reason  that  no  one  has 
ever  been  up  early  enough  to  see  it  in  that  condi- 
tion." 

After  other  similar  reflections  the  writer  says, 
"There  is  a  melancholy  beauty  about  this  unenjoyed 
freshness,  this  unheeded  sunshine  of  the  day's  child- 
hood ;  and  morning  in  a  city  where  man's  works  are, 
and  man  himself  is  not  visible,  if  less  beautiful,  is 
scarcely  less  interesting  than  day  dawning  on  the 
Righi  or  the  Pyramids." 


NINA A   CATASTROPHE.  301 

Without  pretending  to  the  extreme  of  poetic 
sensibility  that  would  have  fully  appreciated  these 
unenjoyed  beauties  by  beholding  them  at  the  day- 
dawning,  some  lovers  of  early  hours  have  occasion- 
ally discovered  the  fascination  which  the  writer  de- 
scribes,— a  fascination  which  lingers  long  enough  to 
make  a  very  early  walk  through  the  garden  of  the 
Tiiileries  delightful,  as  well  as  salutary. 

At  this  hour  the  garden  had  peculiar  attractions 
for  Constance,  who  sometimes  under  the  protection 
of  her  mother  or  Madame  Laval,  sometimes  in  com- 
pany with  Beatrice,  found  healthful  and  pleasing  ex- 
ercise beneath  its  shades.  The  gay  world  was  then 
asleep,  and  the  garden  was  a  lovely  desert.  Occa- 
sionally, during  their  walk,  they  saw  the  gardeners 
engaged  in  the  delicate  task  of  cultivating  the  fine 
varieties  of  flowers  that  ornamented  the  parterres. 

Constance  often  observed  Antoine  occupied  hi 
this  manner ;  and  sometimes  near  the  spot  where  he 
was  at  work,  his  little  ones  were  gambolling.  As 
she  passed  by  one  morning,  the  eldest  of  this  little 
group,  a  child  hardly  six  years  old,  advanced  timidly, 
and  taking  her  hand,  kissed  it  fervently  with  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  reverence. 

"Who  can  say  that  none  of  these  people  have 
gratitude  or  feeling  ?  "  said  Constance  to  her  mother. 
"  The  trifling  sacrifice  I  made  last  winter  for  poor 
Antoine,  and  of  which  I  have  heard  so  much  since, 
as  an  act  of  heroism,  that  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  it, 
seems  to  have  made  an  ineffaceable  impression  not 
only  on  him,  but  on  all  his  family.  I  have  not  met 
with  this  little  girl  since  the  day  when  he  brought 


302  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

his  wife  and  children  to  see  us,  yet  she  seems  to  re- 
collect and  to  love  me." 

"  We  cannot  always  understand  the  circumstances 
in  which  the  poor  are  placed,"  returned  her  mother, 
"  and  this  may  have  been  a  peculiar  case  of  distress 
from  which  relief  may  have  been,  as  Antoine  ex- 
pressed it,  as  if  an  angel  had  brought  him  help  in  his 
greatest  need.  It  will  be  an  encouragement  to  you 
in  your  journey  through  life,  to  find  at  least  some 
hearts  on  which  a  kindly  impression  may  be  made. 
It  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  gratitude  always, 
for  it  is  a  delicate  plant,  and  one  of  celestial  growth, 
which  seldom  takes  root  in  the  stony  hearts  of  this 
world.  Wherever  I  find  it,  I  am  always  certain  that 
it  is  the  harbinger  of  noble  qualities,  whether  in  the 
humble  or  the  great." 

"  There  are  some  fine  qualities  that  grow  where  the 
soil  seems  sadly  neglected,"  said  Constance,  "and  I 
never  see  Nina  de  St.  Clair  without  wishing  that  she 
had  a  fairer  opportunity  of  cultivating  her  mind  and 
heart.  In  my  brief  acquaintance  with  her,  I  have 
found  her  apparently  amiable  as  she  is  pretty.  You 
observe  her  with  her  governess  there  below  this  ter- 
race, taking,  like  ourselves,  an  early  walk." 

Constance  and  her  mother  were  walking  on  the 
terrace,  and  nearly  screened  from  observation  by  the 
leafy  canopy  of  trees  cut  into  the  form  of  a  berceau. 
At  this  unusually  early  hour  they  were  the  only  visi- 
tors in  the  garden,  except  Nina  de  St.  Clair  and  her 
governess,  who  were  together  below. 

To  the  surprise  of  Constance,  a  man  stepped  warily 
from  the  umbrageous  shelter  of  the  neighboring  trees 


NINA — A   CATASTROPHE.  303 

and  joined  them.  The  governess  lingered,  as  if  pur- 
posely, behind,  and  the  stranger  and  Nina  de  St.  Clair 
were  soon  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 

The  person  of  this  stranger,  as  Constance  caught 
a  glimpse  of  htm  through  the  trees  as  they  passed  on, 
seemed  to  her  far  from  prepossessing  or  agreeable. 
He  was  neither  young  nor  handsome.  There  was  an 
easy  familiarity  in  his  address  that  might  have  passed 
for  courtly  grace  to  one  unused  to  the  ways  of  the 
world,  but  to  a  practised  eye,  the  impostor  was  plainly 
seen  beneath  so  flimsy  a  disguise.  A  dark,  full  beard 
and  moustache,  concealed  many  of  the  lines  of  a  face 
which  gave,  in  the  features  that  were  visible,  an  im- 
pression as  dark  and  sinister  as  the  face  itself. 

He  continued  conversing  with  deep  earnestness 
with  Nina  de  St.  Clair,  until  the  simultaneous  arrival 
of  the  two  groups  at  the  end  of  the  terrace,  startled 
Nina  and  her  companion.  The  man  retreated  hastily, 
and  Nina,  with  an  inexpressible  degree  of  confusion 
in  her  countenance  and  manner,  seemed  to  hesitate 
whether  to  make  an  equally  precipitate  retreat,  or  to 
attempt  some  explanation  of  the  singular  circumstance 
she  naturally  supposed  would  awaken  curiosity,  if  not 
suspicion.  The  latter  determination  seemed  the  one 
she  had  adopted,  for  she  advanced  with  affected 
gayety  to  meet  Constance  and  her  mother. 

With"  her  pretty  cheeks  still  flushed  by  ill-con- 
cealed emotion,  Nina  de  St.  Clair  approached,  and 
after  paying  her  compliments  to  Mrs.  Melville,  linked 
her  arm  within  that  of  Constance  and  walked  by  her 
side.  The  governess,  in  confusion  scarcely  less  than 
that  of  her  pupil,  came  up  at  the  same  moment.  Mrs. 


304  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

Melville  permitted  the  young  ladies  to  walk  on,  and 
to  converse  at  their  ease,  without  interrupting  them, 
taking  that  opportunity  of  making  some  inquiries 
concerning  an  academy  with  which  the  governess  in- 
formed her  she  had  once  been  connected,  and  which 
a  friend  had  requested  her  to  make. 

"  I  am  so  happy  to  meet  you  this  fine  morning  ! " 
said  Nina  to  Constance.  "  I  wish  we  could  find 
you  here  every  day ;  I  am  so  tired  of  Madame 
Costelle ! » 

"  Indeed  ?  "  replied  Constance  with  a  smile,  "  but 
you  seem  to  have  other  persons  to  converse  with  you 
sometimes  in  your  walks.  Pray  who  was  the  person 
who  quitted  you  so  abruptly  at  the  moment  we  met 
with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh ! "  said  Nina  hurriedly,  "  that  was  a  very 
agreeable  and  distinguished  person.  You  doubtless 
have  often  seen  him  before." 

"  I  do  not  recollect  ever  to  have  seen  him  before," 
said  Constance.  "  But  how  is  he  so  distinguished  ?  " 

Nina  looked  round  anxiously,  as  if  to  see  how 
near  her  governess  was  to  them  before  she  replied. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Madame  Costelle  is  too  far 
to  overhear  all  we  are  talking  about,"  she  said,  "  for 
her  ears  are  like  those  of  an  angel,  as  the  word  is 
spelled  in  French,  only  without  the  g.  But  I  am  glad 
she  knows  nothing  of  English.  She  might,  however, 
catch  a  few  words  of  our  conversation,  if  she  knew 
we  were  talking  about  her." 

"  We  were  not  speaking  of  Madame  Costelle," 
said  Constance,  "  and  I  confess  I  am  surprised  at  the 
small  degree  of  respect  she  seems  to  have  inspired, 


NINA — A   CATASTROPHE.  305 

since  you  have  just  compared  her  ears  with  those  of 
a  donkey." 

"  Well,  they  are  in  truth  nearly  as  long,"  replied 
Nina,  "  and  she  is  nearly  as  stupid.  I  think  mamma 
engaged  her  for  these  very  reasons.  She  says  clever 
governesses  are  apt  to  be  troublesome,  and  this  one 
is  useful  as  a  maid-servant  in  certain  respects,  and 
makes  some  economy  in  the  family." 

"  But  while  you  are  discussing  the  merits  of  Mad- 
ame Costelle,"  said  Constance,  amused  at  the  childish 
ingenuity  with  which  Nina  sought  to  draw  off  her 
attention  from  the  first  subject  of  their  conversation, 
"  you  have  quite  forgotten  to  answer  my  question. 
Who  is  the  person  with  whom  you  were  conversing 
when  we  met  you  just  now  ?  " 

This  was  directly  to  the  point,  and  not  to  be 
evaded,  especially  as  Nina  perceived  from  the  arch 
smile  with  which  the  question  was  propounded,  that 
Constance  had  discovered  the  reluctance  with  which 
she  returned  to  the  subject. 

"  That  gentleman,"  replied  Nina  in  a  low  voice, 
and  again  looking  round  to  see  if  her  governess  was 
within  hearing,  "  is  the  Chevalier  Kriminelski.  He  is 
not  French,  but  he  is  a  person  of  great  wealth  and 
consequence  in  his  own  country.  He  informs  me  that 
he  possesses  unbounded  influence  there,  and  that  his 
rank  is  so  high  that  the  lady  he  may  marry  will  be 
little  less  than  a  duchess." 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  said  Constance  laughing,  "  this 
person  looks  to  me  more  like  a  chevalier  ^Industrie 
than  a  chevalier  any  thing  else ;  how  came  you  to  be 


306  HOME  AND  THE  WOKLD. 

acquainted  with  him?  Does  Madame  de  St.  Clan- 
admit  him  in  her  circle  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Nina,  flushing  with  anger  at  the 
unceremonious  expression  of  Constance  in  turning 
her  admirer  into  a  chevalier  cPindustrie,  "  the  Cheva- 
lier Kriminelski  has  too  much  pride,  as  he  tells  me,  to 
seek  acquaintance  with  any  one.  He  does  not  care 
about  entering  any  society  here,  as  he  says  strangers 
never  receive  the  honors  to  which  they  are  entitled." 

"  My  dear  Nina,"  said  Constance  gravely,  "  I  am 
very  young  to  give  you  any  advice,  but  you  are  still 
younger  than  I  am.  Will  you  listen  if  I  say  some- 
thing seriously  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Nina,  "  I  will  listen,  for  I  believe 
you  really  like  me,  and  that  you  will  not  say  any  thing 
unkind  to  me.  Don't  say  any  thing  unkind,  if  you 
please,"  she  continued  beseechingly,  while  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  "  for  I  am  very  unhappy  already." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Constance,  "  what  I  mean 
to  say  will  be  dictated  by  the  greatest  kindness,  for 
there  is  a  mystery  in  what  I  have  seen  this  morning, 
that  increases  the  interest  I  feel  for  you.  This  person, 
calling  himself  the  Chevalier  Kriminelski,  I  have  once 
heard  of  before,  and  his  name  was  then  connected 
with  circumstances  that  reflected  any  thing  but  honor 
on  his  conduct.  You  inform  me  that  your  mother  is 
not  even  acquainted  with  him,  and  yet  you  meet  him 
clandestinely." 

"  And  if  I  do  meet  with  him  accidentally,"  said 
Nina  in  a  hurried  manner,  "my  conversations  with  him 
are  encouraged  by  the  governess  under  whose  charge 
I  am  placed,  so  that  it  is  no  responsibility  of  mine." 


NINA — A   CATASTKOPHE.  307 

"  Wherever  the  responsibility  lies,"  said  Con- 
stance, "the  consequences  of  these  conversations, 
which  seem  to  have  made  a  certain  impression,  will 
be  no  less  dangerous  to  you." 

"  You  speak  very  solemnly,"  said  Nina,  affecting 
to  smile,  though  the  effort  resulted  only  in  a  tremulous 
agitation  of  her  pretty  lip ;  "  one  would  suppose  that 
the  chevalier  was  making  proposals  to  run  away  with 
me." 

"  I  trust  you  would  be  too  wise  to  listen  to  such 
overtures,"  replied  Constance,  "  for,  sad  as  an  elope- 
ment always  is,  it  is  regarded  in  this  country  as  a 
signal  disgrace  in  any  family  where  it  occurs.  A 
marriage  here,  to  be  legal,  must  be  accompanied  by 
many  forms,  and  the  consent  of  parents  is  indispen- 
sable to  it.  The  romances  that  tell  of  people  who  run 
off  to  Gretna  Green,  or  who  have  the  fatal  knot  tied 
by  the  nearest  magistrate,  and  without  witnesses,  are 
considered  fabulous  here.  Such  a  step  on  the  part 
of  a  young  person,  leads  to  the  most  terrible  conse- 
quences." 

Nina  shuddered.  "  It  signifies  little,"  she  said  in 
a«  low  and  mournful  voice,  "  what  may  be  the  fate  of 
one  who  is  nothing  to  herself  or  any  one  else." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  apply  that  sad  reflection  to 
yourself,  I  hope,"  said  Constance.  "  You  have  a  mother 
to  love  and  trust,  and  who  doubtless  loves  you  ten- 
derly." 

"  You  mean  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  I  suppose  ? " 
answered  Nina  bitterly ; — "  the  lady  that  you  will  see 
to-day  at  two  o'clock  in  the  avenue  of  the  Champs 
Elysees,  reclining  in  her  elegant  caleche,  splendidly 


308  HOME   AND   THE   WOELD. 

attired,  with  a  parasol  a  la  marquise  in  her  hand,  and 
a  lapdog  on  the  front  cushion,  while  I  am  probably 
walking  at  the  same  moment  on  the  side  pavement 
with  Madame  la  Gouvernante.  Do  you  call  that  lady 
my  mother  ?  Alas  !  I  have  no  mother — God  help 
me  ! "  said  the  poor  girl,  and  the  tears  fell  like  rain 
over  her  fair  cheeks.  « 

Constance  was  silenced.  She  knew  not  what  con- 
solation to  offer  to  this  young  heart,  full  of  natural 
affections,  checked  and  withering  under  the  chilling 
influences  of  neglect  and  coldness  from  the  source 
whence  all  their  warmth  and  light  should  have  been 
derived. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  give  you  pain,  Nina,"  she 
said  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  I  trust  you  are  convinced  of 
that." 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Nina,  "  you  have  always  been 
kind  to  me,  and  for  that  reason  I  will  be  kind  to  you, 
and  tell  you  a  conversation  I  overheard  not  very  long 
ago  between  mamma  and  Miss  Almeria  Belmont  about 
you." 

The  desire  to  escape  from  farther  questioning  on 
the  subject  of  the  chevalier,  was  so  obvious  in  thfe 
sudden  turn  of  the  conversation,  that  Constance  made 
no  effort  to  revert  to  it.  She  was  relieved  by  observ- 
ing that  Nina  could  so  soon  banish  the  thoughts  that 
had  pained  her  so  visibly. 

"  If  you  overheard  the  conversation,"  said  Con- 
stance, "  perhaps  it  was  something  not  designed  either 
for  your  ear  or  mine.  It  would  be  more  honorable 
not  to  repeat  it." 

"  I  do  not  think  either  of  those  ladies  would  be 


NINA — A   CATASTROPHE.  309 

so  very  scrupulous  as  you  would  be  in  such  a  case," 
said  Nina.  "  So  I  insist  that  it  is  perfectly  fair  to  tell 
you  what  they  said.  Almeria  Belmont  and  mamma 
had  one  day  a  terrible  quarrel  about  a  letter  that  Al- 
meria said  she  had  sent  to  mamma,  who,  it  appeared, 
had  promised  to  burn  it  without  reading  it.  Almeria 
insisted  that,  instead  of  burning  the  letter  unsealed,  as 
she  had  promised  to  do,  mamma  had  read  it,  and  told 
the  contents  to  one  of  her  friends." 

"  But  this  does  not  in  any  way  concern  me,"  said 
Constance,  beginning  to  be  weary  of  the  gossiping 
narrative. 

"  It  concerns  you  more  nearly  than  you  suppose," 
said  Nina.  "  This  letter  had  been  previously  sent  to 
Mr.  Reginald  Villiers,  as  if  by  mistake,  though  it  was 
done  purposely  that  he  might  read  it ;  and  it  was  in- 
tended to  convey  the  impression  to  him  that  you  had 
been  for  a  year  past  engaged  to  be  married  to  Captain 
Delamere,  a  young  English  officer.  Almeria  was  in 
a  towering  passion,  and  reproached  mamma  so  bitter- 
ly, that  mamma  retorted  by  telling  her  that  she  was 
in  love  with  Mr.  Villiers  herself." 

"  But  here  we  are  at  the  grille,"  she  continued, 
"  and  we  must  now  part,  for  it  is  nearly  tune  for 
breakfast — adieu ! " 

Nina  hurried  off  with  her  governess,  and  Con- 
stance rejoined  her  mother. 

The  childish  gossip  of  Nina  de  St.  Clair  had  ex- 
plained in  a  few  moments  the  apparently  strange  and 
wayward  conduct  of  Reginald.  Constance  perceived 
from  the  light  afforded  her  by  this  revelation,  that 
there  was  some  ground  for  the  charge  of  Madame  de 


310  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

St.  Clair  against  Almeria  Belmont,  and  she  could  not 
doubt  that  a  systematic  effort  had  been  made  to 
deceive  Reginald  into  the  belief  that  she  loved 
another.  Her  young  heart  was  lightened  of  a  load 
of  sad  conjectures,  for  all  that  she  had  ever  seen  or 
heard  of  Reginald  contradicted  the  idea  that  he  could 
act  with  caprice  or  unkindness  toward  her.  Shall  we 
confess  that  other  and  softer  feelings  "stole  across 
her  busy  thought  ?  " 

Constance  was  aroused  from  her  reflections  by  a 
gentle  pressure  of  her  arm.  She  had  walked  on 
silently  with  that  arm  locked  in  her  mother's,  ab- 
sorbed in  sweet  and  bitter  fancy,  until  they  approached 
the  bridge  which  lay  in  their  homeward  way,  and  the 
pressure  induced  her  to  look  up. 

Just  before  them  was  the  same  man  Nina  de  St. 
Clair  had  been  conversing  with,  and  whom  she  had 
spoken  of  as  the  Chevalier  Kriminelski.  A  nearer 
view  did  not  improve  the  impression  his  appearance 
had  first  made.  He  was  speaking  in  low  and  earnest 
tones  to  a  handsome  and  well-dressed  young  woman 
who  was  walking  by  his  side.  Happening  to  glance 
furtively  behind  him,  he  perceived  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Melville  and  her  daughter,  and  leaving  his  com- 
panion, walked  rapidly  forward,  and  was  soon  out  of 
sight. 

Mrs.  Melville  and  Constance  were  now  crossing 
the  bridge.  The  young  woman  was  still  in  advance 
of  them.  When  she  reached  the  middle  of  the  bridge, 
she  suddenly  stopped,  sprung  on  the  parapet  that 
guarded  its  side,  and  tossing  her  arms  upwards  with 


NINA A   CATASTROPHE.  311 

a  wild  shriek  of  despair,  plunged  into  the  waters  sixty 
feet  below ! 

The  cries  of  the  persons  on  the  river's  banks,  who 
were  there  engaged  in  their  usual  occupations,  speed- 
ily drew  numbers  to  the  assistance  of  the  unfortunate 
person.  Alas !  their  efforts  were  vain, — the  dark 
waters  had  closed  over  her,  and  her  griefs,  and  her 
wrongs.  She  had  sunk  to  rise  no  more  ! 

The  shock  that  this  terrible  scene  gave  to  Mrs. 
Melville  and  her  daughter  deprived  them  of  .the 
pleasure  their  early  walks  had  afforded  them,  for  it 
was  impossible  to  pass  the  spot  where  it  had  occurred 
without  recalling  it. 

The  day  had  nearly  passed  away  before  Constance 
sufficiently  recovered  her  composure  to  relate  to  her 
mother  the  conversation  that  had  passed  between 
Nina  de  St.  Clair  and  herself.  Mrs.  Melville  felt  sin- 
cerely for  the  poor  girl,  placed  as  she  was  by  the 
neglect  of  a  mother  who  ought  to  have  been  her 
guide  and  protectress,  in  a  position  of  such  imminent 
peril.  She  resolved  that  on  the  following  day  she 
would  call  on  Madame  de  St.  Clair,  and  at  the  risk  of 
forfeiting  her  friendship,  venture  to  inform  her  of  the 
circumstances  that  were  so  well  calculated  to  awaken 
maternal  vigilance. 

The  next  day  at  the  visiting  hour,  Mrs.  Melville 
called  on  Madame  de  St.  Clair.  She  was  informed 
that  Madame  was  in  great  distress.  The  sad  cause 
was  soon  told, — Nina  de  St.  Clair  had  eloped  the 
preceding  night  with  the  dark  and  mysterious  stran- 
ger! 

The  star  of  Madame  de  St.  Clair  was,  by  this  event, 


312  HOME   AND  THE   WOULD. 

extinguished  in  the  hemisphere  of  fashion.  The  waif 
that  had  glittered  for  a  few  brief  hours  in  the  sun- 
light upon  the  shore,  was  washed  away  by  the  reced- 
ing tide.  Amid  the  gay  circles  where  it  had  been 
her  highest  ambition  to  move,  Madame  de  St.  Clair 
was  heard  of  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A     NEW     ACQUAINTANCE. 

OUR  narrative  must  now  make  a  slightly  retro- 
grade movement,  and  return  to  the  incidents  which 
succeeded  the  first  thrilling  event  that  occurred  in 
the  journey  resolved  upon  by  Reginald. 

He  delayed  his  departure  from  Sens,  as  has  been 
already  recorded,  only  long  enough  to  be  assured  of 
the  safety  of  Beatrice,  and  to  see  her  clasped  to  her 
father's  heart.  When  they  turned  to  thank  her 
young  deliverer,  whose  agency  in  her  preservation 
seemed  to  him  so  simple  an  act  of  humanity  that  it 
aroused  no  feeling  of  self-complacency  in  his  mind,  he 
was  already  wheeling  out  of  the  court,  and  rapidly 
continuing  his  route  towards  Italy. 

The  season  was  hardly  far  enough  advanced  to 
admit  of  travelling  with  comfort  and  safety  amid  the 
still  wintry  passes  of  the  Alps,  but  there  was  no  abso- 
lute danger  in  the  undertaking,  and  Reginald  deter- 
mined to  accomplish  his  journey  by  the  most  direct 
road. 

He  passed  in  safety  over  the  bleak  mountains, 
mantled  with  eternal  snows,  amid  the  gigantic  rocks 
14 


314  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

that  cleave  the  vault  of  heaven  with  their  rugged 
peaks  ;  and  regardless  of  the  overhanging  avalanches 
that  threatened  him,  pursued  his  onward  way. 

The  southern  side  of  the  Simplon  was  attained 
without  accident,  and  he  soon  left  behind  him  those 
storm-worn  regions  that  lower  over  the  sunny  plains 
below  them,  as  if  "  scowling  in  jealous  fury  on  a  love- 
liness they  are  destined  always  to  look  upon,  and 
never  partake." 

His  rapid  descent  afforded  brief  space  for  admira- 
tion of  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  of  the  wonderful 
works  of  nature  around  him, — its  darker  features 
brightened  by  the  cascades  pitching  from  the  lofty 
rocks,  and  freshening  with  their  sparkling  waters  and 
spray  clouds  the  Alpine  roses  and  feathery  tufts  of 
mountain  fern,  that  found  their  way  through  the  clefts 
at  their  base  and  softened  their  ruggedness,  as  does 
a  kindly  smile  seen  at  rare  intervals  on  a  stern  human 
face. 

The  superb  road  pursuing  its  course  amid  these 
frowning  fortresses,  fathomless  abysses,  and  thundering 
cataracts,  offered  an  apt  emblem  of  the  genius  of  the 
mighty  conqueror,  who  had  achieved  such  a  victory 
over  nature  in  the  savage  and  pathless  wilderness. 
Happy  would  it  have  been  for  the  hecatombs  of 
victims  heaped  upon  the  altar  of  his  ambition,  if  all 
his  conquests  had  been  equally  bloodless  and  equally 
beneficial ! 

The  last  snowy  peak  glittering  in  the  sunlight 
gradually  disappeared  from  Reginald's  view,  and  the 
gigantic  statue  of  St.  Charles  Borromeo  announced 
to  him  that  the  Alpine  passes  no  longer  presented  an 


A   NEW   ACQUAINTANCE.  315 

obstacle  to  his  progress,  and  that  sunny  Italy  was 
stretched  out  in  summer  beauty  before  him. 

During  the  past  autumn  he  had  lingered  long 
among  the  fairy  islands  and  terraced  gardens  that  once 
boasted  the  presence  of  the  saint.  He  had  watched 
from  the  groves  of  citron  and  myrtle,  that  breathe 
perennial  spring,  the  changing  glories  of  Monte  Rosa, 
when  the  setting  sun  gave  to  the  peaks  of  the  snow- 
capped mountain  the  ruby  tint  from  which  it  takes  its 
poetic  name.  But  he  was  far  happier  wandering  in 
those  pleasing  shades  than  at  the  present  moment, 
when  solitude  and  reflection  combined  to  convince 
him  that  he  had  acted  from  an  impulse  unworthy  of 
his  mind  and  heart,  in  renouncing  the  hopes  he  had 
so  fondly  cherished.  The  longer  he  was  left  to  medi- 
tate, the  less  was  he  satisfied  with  the  course  he  had 
pursued. 

Reginald  paused  at  the  city  of  Milan  to  make  ar- 
rangements for  his  farther  progress.  Like  the  fairy 
islands,  it  had  claimed  his  attention  in  his  previous 
autumnal  visit.  But  the  Cenacolo  could  not  be  passed 
by  unheeded,  and  again  he  looked  on  that  magical 
work  where  "  beneath  the  veil  of  ruin  still  gleams  the 
lustre  of  a  divineness  of  beauty  and  majesty  which 
cannot,  but  by  annihilation,  die."  The  arch  of  Napo- 
leon, the  beautiful  Duomo,  the  pride  of  Italy,  with 
its  Gothic  pinnacles  of  sculptured  marble  high  in 
relief  against  the  azure  sky,  the  gorgeous  relics  of  its 
interior,  statuary,  paintings — all  lost  their  charms  to 
Reginald,  when  compared  with  the  only  real  vestige 
left  of  the  crumbling  and  desecrated  Cenacolo. 

His  interest  in  this  fast  fading  but  noble  work  of 


316  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

a  master  hand,  was  shared  by  many  strangers  who 
daily  visited  the  spot,  to  take  a  last  view  of  the 
perishing  fresco,  which  they  might  never  hope  to  look 
on  again. 

Among  these  strangers,  Reginald  observed  a 
young  man  of  strikingly  elegant  mien,  who  several 
times  looked  toward  him  as  if  recognizing  an  ac- 
quaintance, but  withdrew  his  glance  when  he  per- 
ceived no  corresponding  sign  of  recognition.  While 
passing  the  last  hour  before  his  departure  from  Milan 
in  his  favorite  contemplation,  he  perceived  this  stran- 
ger approaching  him  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  You  will  excuse  the  unceremonious  manner  in 
which  I  present  myself,"  he  said  to  Reginald  with 
graceful  courtesy.  "  I  have  twice  called  at  your  lodg- 
ings, but  my  visits  were  unsuccessful,  and  I  followed 
you  here." 

"  I  have  been  also  unfortunate  in  returning  those 
visits,"  said  Reginald  with  equal  courtesy,  "  since  it 
would  have  given  me  sincere  pleasure  to  reciprocate 
the  civilities  of  the  Comte  de  Beaumanoir,  if  I  re- 
mained longer  in  this  city." 

"  I  fear  from  that  remark  that  you  are  about  to 
leave  Milan,"  said  the  count.  "  I  regret  it  sincerely, 
for  it  would  occupy  more  time  than  you  are  willing  to 
grant  me,  to  express  to  you  all  the  feelings  of  kind- 
ness and  gratitude  which  the  perusal  of  the  letter  in 
my  hand  has  elicited  toward  you.  "  This  epistle,"  he 
continued,  "is  from  the  Comte  de  Visconti,  whose 
name,  as  you  are  aware,  is  among  the  most  distin- 
guished of  Milan.  His  lovely  daughter  is  my  affianced 
bride.  When  I  think  of  the  terrible  fate  from  which 


A  NEW   ACQUAINTANCE.  317 

your  noble  devotion  and  presence  of  mind  saved  one 
dearer  to  me  than  life,  I  cannot  find  words  to  express 
my  emotions." 

"  You  are  less  indebted  to  me  than  you  imagine," 
said  Reginald  smiling.  "  You  forget  the  circumstan- 
ces of  that  singular  adventure.  There  was  no  sacrifice 
needed  or  made  on  my  part,  and  the  duty  of  rescuing 
beauty  and  innocence  from  the  fangs  of  treachery 
and  villainy  became  only  a  pleasure,  and  was  too 
obvious  in  principle,  and  on  that  occasion  too  easy  in 
practice,  to  awaken  such  enthusiasm." 

"  The  miscreants  !  "  exclaimed  Beaumanoir,  his 
eyes  flashing  fire  at  the  recollection.  "  I  cannot  think 
of  them  without  revolving  plans  of  vengeance.  I 
shall  yet  find  this  villain,  and  then,  let  him  beware  ! " 

"  Your  last  word  was  precisely  the  one  he  ad- 
dressed to  me  in  our  amicable  parting  at  Sens,"  said 
Reginald,  laughing.  "  A  meeting  with  him  might  be 
more  dangerous  for  me  than  for  you,  as  I  should 
probably  have  brief  warning  of  an  assault.  The  man's 
countenance  wore  a  look  of  fiendish  hatred,  and  he 
told  me  that  he  knew  me,  though  I  had  no  recollection 
of  ever  having  seen  him  before." 

"  I  hope  to  make  his  acquaintance  at  a  future  day," 
said  the  count,  "  when  I  shall  settle  all  scores  for  you 
as  well  as  myself.  But  I  have  a  thousand  questions 
to  ask,  each  one  involving  a  thousand  thanks  to  you. 
Cannot  you  delay  your  departure  ?  " 

"  I  regret  that  it  is  impossible,"  said  Reginald.  "  I 
have  promised  a  friend  to  meet  him  in  Florence.  He 
is  probably  awaiting  my  arrival  there,  in  order  to  con- 


318  HOME  AND  THE  WOBLD. 

tinue  an  extensive  tour  made  at  my  suggestion,  and  I 
cannot  disappoint  him." 

"  Then  I  hope  to  meet  you  in  Paris,  where  I  shall 
be  in  a  few  weeks.  My  mission  here,  which  was  to 
unravel  a  conspiracy  against  the  Comte  de  Visconti,  is 
happily  accomplished,  and  my  return  will  not  long  be 
delayed."  And  with  warm  expressions  and  feelings 
of  friendship  and  cordiality,  he  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE     VEILED     LADY. 

ON  his  arrival  in  Florence,  Reginald  found,  instead 
of  the  friend  he  had  expected  to  meet,  only  a  letter, 
informing  him  that  an  unforeseen  occurrence  had  de- 
layed his  departure  from  Rome,  and  that  several 
weeks  would  elapse  before  he  could  leave  that  city. 
This  letter  gave  Reginald  every  assurance  that  he 
would  find  his  friend  at  Genoa  at  the  tune  he  then 
proposed. 

Happily  for  our  traveller,  there  is  no  spot  on  earth 
where  impatience  may  be  more  easily  soothed  or  dis- 
pelled than  in  Florence, — fair  Florence !  where  the 
stranger  revels  amid  the  greatest  works  of  the  greatest 
artists  the  world  has  ever  seen — where  nature  shares 
the  triumphs  of  art,  and  both  are  beheld  in  their  per- 
fection of  beauty.  "  At  evening  from  the  top  of 
Fiesol6,"  attained  by  the  smooth  road  winding* 
through  groves  of  cypress  mingled  with  the  tender 
verdure  of  the  olives  ;  amid  the  porticoes  of  festooned 
vines  forming  the  "  Etrurian  shades,"  that  "high  over- 
arched embower  "  its  classic  heights,  and  overlooking 
the  castellated  city  with  its  towers  and  domes,  stand- 


320  HOME   AND   THE   WOELD. 

ing  "  thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 
in  Vallombrosa,"  Florence  shows  fairest. 

Reginald  passed  his  evenings  in  these  and  similar 
contemplations  of  the  lovely  Val  d'Arno.  His  morn- 
ings glided  away  in  successive  visits  to  the  palazzi,  the 
treasuries  of  art,  often  absorbed  among  the  concen- 
trated glories  of  the  Tribune,  where  riches  are  en- 
shrined which  pale  those  of  Aladdin's  lamp,  even 
though  not  found  in  the  form  of  sparkling  gems.  On 
every  side  they  rise,  those  enduring  memorials  of 
hands  which  have  "  lost  their  cunning  "  for  centuries. 
There  stands  the  magic  statue,  still  enchanting  the 
world,  though  discolored  by  time,  and  bearing  the 
traces  of  barbarous  desecration,  repaired  by  the  wor- 
shippers of  art — there  on  the  perishable  canvas  is 
stamped  the  impress  "of  that  heavenly  thought  that 
can  never  die,  claiming  affinity  with  ethereal  spirits 
yet  living,  though  long  since  passed  from  the  scene 
of  their  earthly  labors,  and  too  often,  alas  !  from  the 
bitter  trials  that  marked  the  earth-born  but  heaven- 
directed  sons  of  genius. 

The  fine  garden  of  the  Palazzo  Pitti,  in  its  proximity 
to  the  galleries  of  paintings  that  offer  attractions 
almost  equal  to  the  tribune  of  the  Ufizzi,  invites  a 
comparison  of  the  beauties  of  nature  and  art.  Regi- 
nald indulged  in  dreamy  meditations  beneath  the  soft 
shades  of  the  Boboli,  even  when  the  sun  was  in  verti- 
cal splendor,  or  caught  from  different  points  of  view, 
in  his  evening  rambles  through  its  walks,  prospects 
almost  as  distant  and  as  fair  as  those  commanded 
from  the  summit  of  Fiesole. 

These  rambles,  after  a  sojourn  of  several  weeks, 


,       THE   VEILED   LADY.  321 

had  grown  into  a  habit,  and  there  were  favorite  spots 
where  Reginald  loved  to  linger,  and  which  day  after 
day  he  frequented.  He  was  not  naturally  disposed  to 
indolence,  but  there  was  something  enervating  in  the 
soft  summer  air  of  this  southern  clime,  and  the  cloud- 
less sky,  over  which  a  light  hazy  veil  seemed  to  be 
cast  at  mid-day,  as  if  to  soften  the  intensity  of  the 
sun's  rays  by  partially  intercepting  them. 

At  that  hour  he  sought  the  dense  shades  of  the 
garden,  and  with  a  catalogue,  or  a  volume  of  poetry 
as  his  companion,  beguiled  the  quiet  moments.  At 
evening  he  was  roused  from  his  dreamy  languor  by 
the  freshening  breeze  that  swept  from  the  Apennines 
over  the  bosom  of  the  Amo,  and  ascended  to  different 
heights  to  watch  the  gorgeous  effect  of  the  Italian 
sun,  "  arraying  in  purple  and  gold  the  clouds  that  on 
his  western  throne  attend." 

In  these  excursions  Reginald  often  encountered 
parties  of  wanderers,  engaged  like  himself  in  observing 
the  many  objects  of  interest  or  curiosity  that  solicited 
their  admiration. 

The  appearance  of  a  stranger  in  his  favorite  haunts 
excited  neither  surprise  nor  special  interest,  even  when 
the  apparition  came  in  the  form  of  a  lady,  who  re- 
turned day  after  day  to  one  of  the  finest  points  of 
view,  in  the  garden  which  he  most  frequented. 

There  was  nothing  peculiar  in  the  aspect  of  this 
lady,  and  her  dress,  though  neat  and  appropriate  for 
a  traveller,  had  no  distinguishing  features  of  the  Ital- 
ian costume  to  give  it  poetic  or  romantic  interest.  A 
figure  that  seemed  youthful,  from  the  elasticity  of  her 
step,  was  concealed  by  the  ample  folds  of  a  silk  man- 
14* 


322  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

tie,  and  her  simple  hat  of  Tuscan  straw  was  half 
covered  by  a  veil,  which  served  not  only  to  preserve 
her  complexion  from  the  summer  sun  and  air,  but  to 
screen  her  features  entirely  from  view. 

Even  when  engaged,  as  this  lady  often  was,  hi 
sketching  the  distant  landscape  hi  an  album,  the  veil 
was  so  disposed  as  to  conceal  her  face,  while  her  pen- 
cil was  busily  occupied  in  tracing  the  lines  that  had 
apparently  awakened  her  enthusiasm. 

Her  visits  were  repeated  daily  to  the  same  spot, 
and  the  sketch  still  remained  unfinished,  for  after  the 
pencil  had  followed  the  dictates  of  her  hand  and 
thought  for  half  an  hour  at  a  tune,  the  lines  so  care- 
fully touched  and  retouched  were  impatiently  rubbed 
out,  as  if  the  beautiful  scene  baffled  her  power  to 
transfer  it  to  her  artistic  repository. 

This  was  all  simple  and  natural,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  the  lady,  or  her  veil,  or  her  pencil,  or  her 
sketch  that  would  have  excited  the  least  curiosity  or 
interest  under  other  circumstances.  But  Reginald 
was  for  the  moment  an  idler,  moreover  he  was  an  ob- 
server, and  as  a  feature  in  his  evening  prospect,  the 
lady  was  expected  by  him  at  the  hour  and  at  the  spot 
she  always  selected. 

The  fair  stranger  was  one  evening  engaged  in  her 
usual  occupation,  and  her  interest  in  the  landscape 
before  her  was  evidently  heightened  by  the  light  and 
shade  thrown  over  it  by  a  rising  cloud,  that  at  one 
moment  partially  excluded  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
leaving  the  valleys  in  deep  shadow,  while  the  moun- 
tain tops  and  even  the  towers  and  domes  of  the  city 
glittered  in  the  partial  beams. 


THE   VEILED   LADY.  323 

But  the  darker  part  of  the  picture  soon  predomi- 
nated, and  a  peal  of  thunder  startled  the  lady  from 
her  absorbing  studies  and  occupation.  Reginald  had 
foreseen  the  catastrophe,  but  he  was  prepared  to  meet 
it,  and  it  was  a  simple  act  of  courtesy  to  offer  the 
shelter  of  his  large  umbrella  to  protect  the  lady  to 
her  carriage,  which  he  perceived  was  in  waiting  at 
the  garden  gate. 

A  thunder  shower  from  the  clouds  that  suddenly 
rise  over  either  Alps  or  Apennines,  darkening  the 
blue  heaven  of  Italy,  may  well  be  classed  among  the 
events  worthy  of  record  in  that  sunny  region,  and  the 
shower  from  which  Reginald  sheltered  the  veiled  lady, 
formed  no  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

There  was  neither  time  nor  breath  for  ceremony 
while  the  pitiless  torrent  poured  itself  with  unsparing 
fury  above  their  heads,  and  the  lady  unhesitatingly 
accepted  the  supporting  arm  that  directed  her  less 
confident  steps  amid  the  driving  wind  and  rain.  Hap- 
pily the  walk  to  her  carriage  was  not  long,  and  she 
was  soon  placed  in  safety,  while  Reginald,  declining 
her  polite  proposal  to  offer  him  a  shelter  in  her  turn, 
hastened  back  to  his  lodgings. 

The  following  day  found  the  garden  restored  to 
freshness  and  verdure  by  the  shower  that  had  revived 
the  thirsty  trees  and  flowers.  The  sun  shone  with 
wonted  lustre,  and  the  azure  heaven  smiled  on  the 
heights  that  surround  the  city,  and  on  the  fair  city 
itself,  as  brightly  as  if  a  cloud  had  never  disturbed 
their  serenity. 

In  the  evening,  Reginald  almost  unconsciously  wan- 
dered to  the  spot  where  he  had  so  often  seen  the  in- 


324  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

cognita.  She  was  there  before  him,  and  again  busied 
with  her  pencil  and  her  album.  Reginald  approached, 
and  the  lady  rose  from  her  seat,  and  thanked  him 
hi  courteous  terms,  for  the  important  service  he  had 
rendered  her  the  preceding  evening. 

In  resuming  her  seat,  which  was  one  of  the  marble 
benches  placed  at  convenient  intervals  throughout  the 
garden,  the  lady  gracefully  invited  Reginald  to  a 
seat  near  her. 

"You  are  fairly  entitled,"  she  said,  "to  partici- 
pate in  all  the  pleasure  I  have  derived  from  the  lovely 
view  which  has  so  often  exercised  my  pencil  at  this 
spot,  since,  but  for  your  kind  attention  last  evening, 
my  poor  album  would  have  been  drowned, — a  fate, 
indeed,  of  which  the  owner  herself  ran  no  small  risk." 

She  ofiered  him  the  book,  as  she  spoke.  The  sketch 
she  had  made  of  the  landscape  was  executed  with  an 
artist's  skill  and  taste.  Reginald,  as  a  connoisseur, 
expressed  warm  commendations  of  its  superior  merit. 

"  I  congratulated  myself  yesterday  evening,"  he 
said,  "  on  my  forethought  in  providing  an  umbrella, 
which  saved  a  lady's  hat  at  least  from  the  shower.  If 
I  had  then  seen  the  contents  of  this  artistic  volume, 
and  known  that  I  should  be  instrumental,  however 
humbly,  in  preserving  it  from  destruction,  my  self- 
complacency  would  have  been  doubled.  Your  skill 
shows  that  those  who  wander  amid  the  enchantments 
of  this  fairy  land  imbibe  its  genius." 

"  Such  wanderers,"  returned  the  lady,  "  can  pre- 
tend to  nothing  but  feeble  imitations  of  a  genius  that 
seems  to  have  lived  once  and  only  once,  its  brilliant 
rays  being  all  concentrated  on  one  period." 


THE   VEILED   LADY.  325 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Reginald,  "  that  the  great  Italian 
masters  w.ere  contemporary,  and  that  they  have  never 
since  that  epoch  been  equalled.  But  the  subjects 
which  inspired  them  are  yet  more  enduring  than  their 
fame.  These  sacred  subjects  are  immortal,  and  it  may 
be  hoped  that  the  inspiration  they  once  enkindled 
may  be  revived.  Nature,  too,  is  always  before  the 
eyes  of  genius,  and  if  an  artist  might  dip  his  brush  in 
those  gorgeous  hues  now  gathering  around  the  set- 
ting sun,  as  he  sinks  below  that  height,  the  triumphs 
of  a  Salvator  or  a  Claude  would  not  long  stand  un- 
rivalled." 

As  Reginald  spoke,  he  restored  the  album  to  its 
fair  owner.  The  hand  of  the  lady  trembled  visibly, 
as  she  received  it  from  his. 

"  You  speak  with  enthusiasm,"  she  said  with  a 
deep  sigh,  "  of  the  charms  of  nature ;  but  there  are 
those  in  this  false  and  hollow  world  that  are  doomed 
to  be  the  victims  and  dupes  of  art,  even  when  they 
would  learn  of  true  wisdom  to  be  wiser  and  better. 
You  are  not  one  of  these.  There  is  something  that 
tells  me  you  bear  a  charmed  existence.  It  has  been 
foretold  of  you  that  '  fire  and  flood '  will  pass  you  by 
and  leave  you  unscathed  and  unharmed — that  wea- 
pons of  strife,  if  raised  against  you,  shall  fall  harmless 
at  your  feet.  You  have  a  magician's  power, — oh !  do 
not  use  it  unkindly !  " 

Reginald  started.  There  was  something  in  the 
voice  and  manner  in  which  these  words  were  spoken 
that  he  could  not  mistake,  and  the  words  themselves 
betrayed  the  speaker. 

"A  fair  sorceress,"  he  said,  "once  promised  to 


326  HOME  AND  THE   WORLD. 

shield  me  from  such  evils.  Another  part  of  her  own 
charm  I  would  fain  transfer  to  herself.  The .'  serpent's 
tooth '  is  sometimes  concealed  beneath  the  brightest 
flowers,  and  the  fair  sibyl  would  do  well  to  pause  and 
reflect,  before  she  ventures  her  happiness  in  paths 
where  the  venomous  reptile  may  be  hidden." 

The  reply  of  the  lady  was  prevented  by  the  arrival 
of  a  party  of  strangers,  who  at  that  moment  approached 
the  spot  where  she  was.  sitting,  and  Reginald  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity  to  retreat. 

Reginald  had  paid  his  last  visit  to  the  beautiful 
garden.  It  had  lost  its  power  to  enchain  and  enchant 
him.  The  following  day  he  once  more  reviewed  the 
galleries,  the  next  he  passed  in  calling  on  the  acquaint- 
ances whose  kindness  had  been  extended  to  him  dur- 
ing his  sojourn  in  the  beautiful  city  of  flowers,  and  hi 
less  than  a  week  he  found  himself  in  Genoa,  awaiting 
the  friend  who  had  proposed  to  meet  him  there. 


CHAPTER  XXVIH. 

AN  ADVENTURE. 

BEFORE  his  present  visit  to  the  city  known  by 
the  grandiloquent  title  of  La  Superba,  Reginald  had 
thoroughly  explored  it.  He  had  threaded  its  quaint 
narrow  streets,  looking  like  tunnels  through  moun- 
tains, when  contrasted  with  the  overshadowing  height 
of  the  houses,  and  inhabited  before  the  picturesque 
attic  in  which  he  was  again  ceremoniously  installed, 
having  discovered  from  previous  experience,  that  this 
observatory,  as  it  had  once  seemed  to  him,  was  de- 
signed not  for  the  contemplations  of  astronomers,  but 
for  the  superior  comfort  of  astonished  travellers. 

Reginald  well  knew  that  the  finest  salons,  the  fres- 
coed ceilings,  the  gilded  furniture,  the  Genoese  velvet 
and  Venetian  mirrors,  are  reserved  for  these  lofty 
regions ;  and  he  was  not  surprised  when  his  excellenza 
was  conducted  up  six  flights  of  stairs  to  his  apartments. 

An  epitome  of  the  inhabitants  of  Genoa  he  saw 
daily  in  the  piazza  beneath  his  windows,  where  the 
busy  crowd  congregated,  presenting  a  spectacle  as 
curious  as  interesting. 

It  would  have  required  no  great  effort  of  imagina- 


328  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

tion  to  fancy  the  piazza  "  a  stage,  and  all  the  men  and 
women  only  players."  The  peasantry  with  their  gro- 
tesque costumes,  muleteers  with  their  long  and  heavily 
burdened  trains,  monks  and  priests,  naval  officers  in 
glittering  nniforms,  sailors  of  all  nations,  watching 
the  performance  of  some  mountebank,  or  dancing  to 
the  music  of  his  grinding  organ,  while  ladies,  in  their 
long  white  veils,  glided  gracefully  and  fearlessly 
through  the  mingled  throng,  their  picturesque  at- 
tire and  elegant  mien  contrasting  strangely  with  the 
rougher  features  of  the  scene. 

A  few  days  were  still  to  intervene  before  the  friend 
whose  companionship  was  promised  him,  could  arrive, 
and  these  were  profitably  passed  in  examining  what- 
ever of  interest  Reginald  had  pretermitted  in  his 
former  visit. 

But  at  the  end  of  this  time  a  greater  disappoint- 
ment than  that  he  had  met  with  at  Florence,  came  to 
him  in  the  city  of  palaces.  On  the  day  appointed  for 
the  arrival  of  his  friend,  Reginald  again  received  a 
letter  informing  him  that  the  sudden  illness  of  a  brother 
had  necessarily  changed  his  plans,  and  that  he  would 
be  compelled  to  abandon  the  hope  of  continuing 
his  travels  under  the  pleasant  auspices  he  had  an- 
ticipated. 

Reginald,  though  deeply  regretting  the  cause  on 
his  friend's  account,  was  perhaps  less  disappointed 
than  he  acknowledged  to  himself,  for  he  had,  from 
the  first  moment  of  his  rash  resolution,  almost  uncon- 
sciously indulged  a  fond  wish  to  retrace  his  steps,  and 
this  obstacle  now  removed,  a  fair  opportunity  was 
afforded  him  of  following  the  dictates  of  his  inclina- 


AN  ADVENTURE.  329 

tion,  without  subjecting  him  to  the  imputation  of 
caprice.  His  plans  were  soon  matured,  and  he  re- 
solved to  return  by  Marseilles  directly  to  the  French 
capital. 

Variety  was  the  only  motive  that  induced  Regi- 
nald to  prefer  the  sea  to  the  land  route,  for  the 
celerity  that  now  makes  it  preferable,  offered  no  in- 
ducement at  that  period.  A  Genoese  vessel  bound 
for  Marseilles  was  to  leave  the  port  the  morning  after 
he  received  the  letter  that  determined  his  course, 
and  his  arrangements  for  the  brief  voyage  were  easily 
completed. 

His  last  day  in  Genoa  was  passed  in  revisiting  the 
superb  palaces  and  churches  which  give  the  name  to 
the  city  it  so  proudly  boasts.  He  was  lingering  near 
twilight  in  the  San  Siro,  where  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  had  given  him  only  light  enough  to  distinguish 
the  lifelike  figures  of  its  frescoes,  and  the  shadowy 
forms  had  assumed  a  sort  of  mysterious  interest.  His 
meditations  were  interrupted  by  his  guide,  who  warned 
him  that  the  hour  had  arrived  for  closing  the  doors  of 
the  church. 

As  Reginald  passed  out,  he  was  preceded  by  a 
noble-looking  man,  who  was  apparently,  like  himself, 
a  stranger,  and  had  been,  as  he  was,  engaged  in  ex- 
amining the  fine  frescoes  of  the  San  Siro.  He  paused 
at  the  portal  of  the  church  to  reward  his  guide,  and 
Reginald  recognized  Captain  Delamere. 

They  had  been  presented  to  each  other  by  Mrs. 
Melville  on  the  eventful  morning  of  their  meeting  at 
the  Louvre,  and  Reginald,  now  convinced  that  his 
suspicions  had  been  groundless,  cordially  reciprocated 


330  HOME  AND  THE  WOKLD. 

the  kind  salutation  with  which  Captain  Delamere 
met  him. 

!  "  I  shall  ever  retain  the  liveliest  remembrance  of 
my  brief  visit  to  your  country,"  said  Captain  Dela- 
mere, as  they  shook  hands  warmly  before  parting. 
"  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  join  my  regiment  in  India, 
and  a  soldier's  life  is  too  full  of  uncertainty  for  me  to 
hope  that  I  may  ever  return  to  you." 

Reginald  acknowledged  the  courtesy  of  his  adieus, 
and  with  kindly  expressed  and  sincerely  felt  good 
wishes  they  parted. 

The  following  morning  proved  bright  and  cloud- 
less, and  Reginald  embarked  in  the  Genoese  vessel 
in  which  he  had  taken  his  passage  for  Marseilles.  He 
was  a  practised  and  fearless  sailor,  and  thought  little 
of  the  discomfort  around  him,  while  he  stood  looking 
from  the  deck  at  the  receding  beauties  of  the  city  of 
palaces,  among  which  the  Doria,  with  its  entourage  of 
gardens  and  gleaming  statuary,  was  most  conspicuous. 

The  semicircular  amphitheatre  of  hills,  crowned 
with  fortifications,  that  suggests  the  name  of  the 
Crescent  City,  lessened  gradually  on  his  view,  and  the 
deep  blue  waves  of  the  Mediterranean  rippled  calmly 
on,  challenging  the  eye  and  ear  as  the  only  objects 
of  sight  and  sound  now  within  reach.  Occasionally  the 
deep  hoarse  voice  of  a  sailor,  or  the  motion  of  a  rope, 
broke  the  stillness  that  would  otherwise  have  per- 
mitted Reginald  to  remain,  without  interruption,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  reverie  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

The  mysterious  stranger  he  had  met  with  in  Flo- 
rence had  thrown  a  light  over  his  path,  which  had 
been  before  darkened  by  a  spell  that  he  could  not 


AN  ADVENTURE.  331 

comprehend  nor  shake  off.  He  felt  satisfied  that  he 
had  been  purposely  misled, — with  what  object,  he 
would  have  been  blind  indeed  not  to  suspect.  His 
recent  meeting  with  Captain  Delamere  had  dispelled 
every  doubt,  and  he  ardently  longed  for  the  time 
when  he  might  acknowledge  his  error,  andNask  for- 
giveness for  his  apparent  caprice  and  injustice.  The 
lovely  being  he  had  for  a  moment  supposed  capable 
of  deceiving  him  was  now  freed  from  every  suspicion, 
and  resumed  her  empire  over  his  heart.  Bright  blos- 
soms of  the  future  were,  in  imagination,  strewed  in 
his  pathway  of  life,  and  as  he  looked  out  on  the  glitter- 
ing waves  around  him,  he  almost  fancied  their  bril- 
liancy a  type  of  the  happy  days  and  years  that  would 
thus  follow  each  other  in  calmness  and  beauty. 

The  morning  passed  away,  and  Reginald  was 
aroused  from  the  reflections,  in  which  he  continued 
to  indulge  throughout  the  day,  by  the  heavy  tread 
of  the  commander  of  the  vessel  who  was  pacing  the 
deck  near  him,  apparently  remarking  with  deep  in- 
terest some  distant  object.  Perceiving  that  his  anx- 
ious gaze  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Reginald,  he 
paused,  and  with  evidently  assumed  nonchalance, 
made  some  unimportant  observation,  and  passed  on. 

The  light  words,  and  the  earnest  expression  that 
preceded  them,  were  so  strongly  contrasted,  that 
Reginald  was  induced  to  look  with  some  interest  hi 
the  direction  in  which  the  man  had  been  gazing. 
The  sun  was  sinking  low,  and  was  already  partially 
obscured  by  a  dense  mass  of  black  clouds,  tinged  on 
their  edges  by  the  red  light  of  the  beams  that  threw 
a  fitful  brilliancy  across  the  slowly  swelling  billows. 


332  HOME   AND   THE   WOELD. 

A  heavy  stillness  pervaded  the  air,  and  the  crowded 
canvas  flapped  idly  against  the  masts. 

It  needed  no  prophet  to  foretell  the  approach  of  a 
storm,  which  already  began  to  be  announced  by  the 
muttering  of  distant  thunder.  Slowly  and  languidly 
the  vessel  moved  on,  until  a  slight  but  sudden  gust 
of  wind  restored  life  and  motion  both  to  the  vessel 
and  the  sailors. 

All  was  now  bustle  and  activity.  The  gale  fresh- 
ened until  it  blew  a  perfect  hurricane.  The  night 
continued  dark  and  tempestuous,  but  the  approach 
of  morning  broke  the  spell,  and  the  wind  gradually 
subsided  as  the  dawn  appeared. 

The  sun  arose  in  full  splendor,  and  the  vessel  pur- 
sued her  steady  way,  though  the  commander  an- 
nounced that  she  had  been  driven  far  out  of  her 
course. 

The  sound  of  "  sail,  ho ! "  from  the  mainmast  broke 
on  the  monotony  of  this  day,  so  unexpectedly  added 
to  the  voyage  by  the  tempest  of  the  preceding  night ; 
and  Reginald  watched  with  lively  interest  the  approach 
of  a  vessel  bearing  the  broad  white  flag  of  France,  that 
gleamed  in  the  morning  sun. 

Nearer  she  came,  until  he  could  clearly  discern 
her  graceful  outline,  sweeping  like  some  aquatic  bird 
with  its  white  wings  over  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 
But  to  his  surprise,  when  within  speaking  distance, 
the  few  officers  on  the  deck  in  the  uniform  of  the 
French  navy  suddenly  disappeared,  and  all  was  left 
in  ominous  silence,  though  she  still  approached  the 
Genoese  vessel  so  closely  that  they  were  almost  in 
contact. 


AN   ADVENTURE.  333 

This  mysterious  movement  was  followed  by  an- 
other far  less  equivocal  and  more  appalling.  In  an 
instant,  and  as  if  by  magic,  the  deck  swarmed  with 
the  swarthy  faces  and  formidable  scimetars  of  a  crowd 
of  Algerines,  who,  throwing  off  the  mask  they  had 
assumed,  replaced  the  snowy  flag  with  one  of  a  blood- 
red  color,  and  the  commander  of  the  now  plainly  re- 
vealed pirate  ship  imperiously  demanded  the  surren- 
of  the  Genoese  vessel. 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  place  her  at  the  mercy 
of  the  Algerines,  and  so  briefly  and  systematically 
was  the  transfer  of  every  thing  valuable  made  to 
them,  that  Reginald  felt  convinced  that  the  com- 
mander of  the  Genoese  vessel  was  in  league  with  the 
pirate  to  deliver  the  spoils  into  his  hands. 

Distrusting  both  equally,  he  resolved  not  to  allow 
himself  to  be  transferred  among  the  chattels  of  the 
two  miscreants,  as  he  deemed  them.  Calling  on  the 
few  men  around  him.  who  seemed  to  share  in  his  feel- 
ings to  aid  him  in  a  struggle  for  their  freedom,  with  a 
sudden  and  successful  effort  he  wrested  a  weapon 
from  one  of  the  assailants,  who  now  crowded  around 
him,  and  used  it  with  such  power  and  dexterity  that 
a  passage  was  soon  cleared  before  him. 

The  Algerine  commander  looked  with  evident 
admiration  at  the  calm  and  determined  bravery  with 
which  Reginald  kept  off  the  dastardly  crowd.  He 
thrust  aside  the  turbaned  heads  and  uplifted  weapons 
which  interposed  between  them,  and  approached  more 
nearly. 

"  It  is  in  vain  to  contend,"  he  said.  "  You  must 
be  at  last  overcome  by  numbers.  Violence  will  only 


334  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

lead  to  violence, — you  are  safe  if  you  provoke  it  no 
farther." 

There  was  a  certain  air  of  frankness  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  chief,  which  gave  a  better  assurance 
than  his  words  of  the  sincerity  of  his  intentions.  A 
moment's  reflection  convinced  Reginald  that  resistance 
was  vain.  He  might  hope  to  escape  from  captivity  if 
he  incensed  these  lawless  plunderers  no  farther,  but 
there  would  be  no  refuge  from  their  vengeance,  if  he 
refused  to  listen  to  the  terms  now  offered  him. 

The  commander  spoke  a  few  words  to  his  followers 
in  the  Moorish  tongue,  and  motioned  to  Reginald  to 
follow  him.  The  Genoese  vessel,  lightened  of  all  that 
was  valuable,  was  permitted  to  depart  with  her  sailors 
and  commander.  Reginald  and  a  few  other  persons, 
who  might  have  been  witnesses  against  both,  were 
taken  on  board  the  Algerine.  No  violence  was 
oiFered  them,  and  the  pirate  ship  was  soon  again  skim- 
ming the  surface  of  the  sea,  as  lightly  as  a  hawk  in 
the  air  after  she  has  secured  her  quarry. 

"  It  is  the  will  of  Allah ! "  said  the  commander 
resignedly,  as  the  Genoese  vessel  moved  off.  "  I  owe 
this  to  La  superba  for  her  persecutions.  They  have 
only  received  the  punishment  they  deserved." 

This  soliloquy  was  uttered  in  the  Spanish  tongue, 
and  Reginald  comprehended  the  import  of  his  words. 
There  was  something  chivalrous  in  the  deportment 
of  this  man  toward  him  which  exempted  him  from 
the  feeling,  of  utter  repugnance,  with  which  he  re- 
garded the  piratical  crew  about  him.  The  chief  had 
evidently  seen  better  days,  for  there  was  a  certain 
air  of  dignity,  mingled  with  the  elastic  grace  of  form 


AN   ADVENTUEE.  335 

which  yet  distinguishes  the  descendants  of  the  Spanish 
Arab,  while  the  purity  of  the  language  he  spoke  be- 
trayed him  still  farther. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,"  he  said,  throwing  himself 
negligently  on  a  piece  of  Persian  carpeting,  which  he 
had  ordered  to  be  placed  on  the  deck  for  the  accom- 
modation of  Reginald  as  well  as  himself,  "  you  are 
my  prisoner  ;  but  you  shall  see  that  pirate,  as  you  and 
others  would  call  me,  you  cannot  surpass  me  in  cour- 
tesy, though  you  may  equal  me  in  courage." 

"  I  owe  you  my  acknowledgments,"  said  Reginald 
in  the  same  careless  tone ;  "  but  in  truth  I  do  not 
know  that  you  merit  them,  since  your  courtesy  would 
have  availed  me  little  without  the  aid  of  my  own 
good  arm.  I  am,  however,  as  you  say,  your  prisoner, 
and  I  think  there  is  that  in  your  bearing  to  which  I 
may  trust." 

A  gleam  of  pride  and  satisfaction  lighted  up  the 
swarthy  features  of  the  Moor  as  Reginald  spoke,  but 
it  was  chased  away  by  an  expression  of  deep  sadness 
while  he  said,  as  if  soliloquizing, 

"  The  children  of  the  outcast  Hagar  are  doomed 
to  war  upon  their  brethren,  yet  it  need  not  be  that 
their  hands  should  be  always  imbrued  with  their  blood. 
Persecuted  alike  in  the  desert  or  on  the  boundless 
wastes  of  the  ocean,  can  it  be  deemed  strange  that 
they  should  seek  the  redress  of  their  wrongs,  wherever 
it  may  be  found  ?  " 

"  I  knownot  what  injuries  you  may  have  to  avenge," 
said  Reginald,  who  chose  to  consider  these  words  ad- 
dressed to  himself,  though  the  Moor  seemed  to  have 
uttered  them  almost  unconsciously,  while  absorbed  in 


336  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

his  own  painful  reflections,  "  but  you  appear  to  me  to 
have  a  lawless  manner  of  seeking  justice." 

"  Law  and  justice ! "  reiterated  the  Moor  with 
bitterness.  "  What  have  the  descendants  of  Ishmael 
to  do  with  either  ?  Even  when  they  have  left  their 
own  trackless  wilds  to  dwell  in  Christian  lands,  have 
they  not  been  exiled  from  their  adopted  homes  and 
driven  forth  as  fugitives  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  ? 
What  are  our  crimes  in  comparison  with  those  of 
nations,  who,  calling  themselves  Christian,  with  hardly 
a  shadow  of  pretext  violate  law  and  justice,  and  with- 
out remorse  continually  pursue  their  deadly  work  of 
desolation  and  robbery  !  " 

"  Your  reasoning  is  plausible,"  said  Reginald, 
"  and  well  befits  an  outlaw.  Yet  there  seems  to  me 
something  in  your  tone  and  bearing  that  speaks  of 
worthier  things.  You  were  not  born  to  be  a  pirate, — 
far  better  it  would  have  been  for  you  to  have  chosen 
some  humble  occupation  of  honest  labor,  than  in  this 
fearful  vocation  to  outrage  all  the  kindlier  feelings  of 
your  nature." 

The  Moor  started  to  his  feet,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
the  jewelled  dagger  that  lay  half-concealed  in  the 
folds  of  cachemere  twisted  around  his  waist.  His 
dark  eye  kindled  with  anger  amounting  to  ferocity, 
and  an  expression  of  haughty  scorn  curled  his  lip. 

"  You  know  not  to  whom  this  insult  is  addressed," 
he  said,  proudly  drawing  up  his  form  to  its  full  height. 
"  No  servile  drudgery  will  ever  be  performed  by  the 
hand  of  one  of  my  race.  The  shade  of  Feri  de  Ben 
Estepar  would  stalk  abroad  to  rebuke  such  profana- 
tion. But  our  views  are  too  widely  separated  to  meet." 


AN   ADVENTURE.  337 

He  turned  away  as  he  uttered  the  last  words,  and 
walked  hastily  to  the  extremity  of  the  deck,  leaving 
Reginald  to  his  own  meditations. 

Slowly  and  heavily  the  day  passed  away  to  him. 
The  sun  disappeared  beneath  the  ocean  waves,  and 
one  by  one  a  gleaming  star  came  forth  in  the  blue 
vault  above,  reflected  on  the  deeper  blue  of  the 
sea.  A  dim  outline  of  the  distant  shore  came  gradu- 
ally on  his  view,  though  hardly  visible  in  the  deepen- 
ing gloom  of  night.  Still  the  vessel  held  on  her 
steady  way,  and  as  if  impelled  by  some  magical  and 
unseen  power,  in  profound  silence  and  almost  in  dark- 
ness neared  the  shore. 

A  boat  was  lowered  with  the  same  silence  and 
celerity,  and  Reginald,  with  the  persons  who  had  been 
taken  at  the  same  tune  with  himself  in  the  vessel,  was 
hurried  on  the  land.  He  found  himself  in  a  short 
time  alone  with  the  chief,  whose  orders  had  apparently 
been  fully  understood  before  their  disembarkation ; 
such  was  the  despatch  and  order  with  which  the  ar- 
rangements had  been  conducted. 

He  motioned  to  Reginald  to  accompany  him,  and 
with  rapid  steps  they  passed  over  the  sandy  beach 
until  they  arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  a  rude  village. 
With  the  same  silence  and  promptitude  the  chief  en- 
tered a  low  building,  and  reappeared  in  a  few  minutes, 
leading  two  Arabian  horses.  Throwing  the  bridle  of 
one  to  Reginald,  he  mounted  the  other,  and  waved 
his  hand  forward. 

Reginald  followed  the  direction  indicated,  and 
they  swept  together  over  the  sandy  plain.  The  dreary 
aspect  of  the  coast  gradually  disappeared,  and  by  the 
15 


338  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

light  of  the  rising  moon  he  perceived  some  appearance 
of  vegetation  in  the  higher  country  they  were  now 
approaching. 

The  Moor  dismounted  at  the  foot  of  a  rocky  hill, 
and  motioning  to  Reginald  to  follow  his  example,  se- 
cured the  horses  within  a  shed  apparently  constructed 
for  the  purpose,  and  led  the  way  over  a  steep  path 
among  the  rocks.  Their  route  became  more  rugged 
as  they  proceeded,  but  the  Moor  did  not  slacken  his 
pace  until  the  pathway  seemed  suddenly  closed  by  a 
rude  buttress  of  solid  rock,  which  rose  before  them. 

With  some  difficulty  they  passed  around  this  ob- 
stacle through  the  thickly  matted  shrubs  at  its  base, 
and  found  themselves  opposite  a  small  door  which  the 
Moor  unlocked,  and  secured  with  jealous  care  as  soon 
as  they  entered.  The  faint  light  permitted  Reginald 
only  to  perceive  the  irregular  outline  of  a  large  build- 
ing within  the  spacious  court,  through  which  they 
passed  with  the  same  rapid  and  noiseless  steps. 

Another  door  was  opened  with  equal  caution,  and 
secured  as  the  first  had  been,  when  by  the  light  of  a 
dim  lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  Reginald  found 
himself  in  a  large  but  comfortless  apartment,  furnished 
only  with  a  few  cushions  scattered  negligently  on  the 
floor.  The  small  grated  windows  gave  it  the  appear- 
ance of  a  prison,  and  this  idea  was  painfully  confirmed 
when  the  Moor  with  a  sudden  movement  extinguished 
the  single  lamp,  and  Reginald  heard  the  sound  of  the 
cautiously  closing  door,  as  he  withdrew  from  the  room. 

It  may  be  presumed  that  the  reflections  presented 
by  this  new  aspect  of  his  situation  were  colored  with 
a  sombre  shade.  It  was  apparent  that  the  feeling  of 


AN  ADVENTUKE.  339 

good  will,  with  which  the  Moor  had  at  first  regarded 
him  and  interposed  to  save  his  life,  had  received  a 
check,  if  it  had  not  indeed  been  entirely  extinguished, 
by  the  freedom  with  which  Reginald  had  expressed 
himself  in  their  conversation  of  the  morning.  But 
his  was  a  spirit  full  of  buoyancy  and  life,  and  accus- 
tomed to  look  on  every  event  on  the  brightest  side. 
Fatigued  with  the  exertions  and  vicissitudes  of  the 
day,  he  commended  himself  to  a  strength  more  pow- 
erful and  an  eye  more  watchful  than  his  own,  and 
throwing  himself  on  the  lowly  and  comfortless  resting- 
place  allowed  him,  fell  into  a  deep  and  heavy  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

AN    OASIS    IN    AN    AFRICAN    DESERT. 

THE  morning  was  far  advanced  before  Reginald 
awoke  from  the  profound  sleep,  which  succeeded  the 
fatigue  and  anxiety  of  the  preceding  day.  The  cheer- 
ful beams  of  the  sun  could  not  penetrate  the  low 
windows  of  his  prison,  but  they  afforded  him  light 
enough  to  discern  his  situation,  and  to  perceive  that, 
during  his  profound  slumber  provision  had  been  made, 
as  far  as  circumstances  allowed,  for  his  comfort,  and 
that  a  meal  far  more  luxurious  than  a  prisoner  could 
have  expected,  was  prepared  in  a  small  outer  room, 
as  jealously  locked  as  the  one  he  had  occupied. 

The  attentions  thus  shown  him  proved  that  no  im- 
mediate evil  was  to  be  apprehended,  farther  than  that 
to  which  he  was  already  condemned,  but  there  was 
something  of  sinister  import  in  all  that  surrounded 
him.  He  remembered  the  sullen  silence  the  Moor 
had  preserved  during  the  whole  time  that  had  suc- 
ceeded their  conversation,  and  as  the  day  wore  slowly 
by,  Reginald  found  his  anticipations  of  the  future  be- 
coming hourly  more  gloomy.  As  the  night  drew  on, 


AN   OASIS   IN   AN   AFRICAN  DESEKT.  341 

the  total  darkness  in  which  he  was  left,  exercised  its 
usually  depressing  influence. 

"  It  was  folly,"  he  murmured,  "  to  intrust  myself 
to  the  mercy  of  such  treacherous  hands.  Far  better 
it  would  have  been  to  die  defending  my  life  and  free- 
dom, than  to  perish  here  in  miserable  captivity !  " 

To  the  wearied  soul  "  sleep  seems  the  only  refuge." 
Happily  the  wearied  body  obeyed  the  impulse,  and 
Reginald  again  sought  its  influences  on  his  lowly 
couch,  and  forgot  the  evils  of  the  present  and  the 
gloom  of  the  future.  All  was  buried  in  calm  and 
peaceful  oblivion.  Hours  passed  away  in  that  dull 
still  spot,  and  every  thing  around  him  was  silent  as 
the  night. 

A  faint  gleam  of  light,  falling  momentarily  on  his 
closed  eyelids,  partially  restored  him  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  existence.  Again  it  flashed,  feebly  but  cer- 
tainly, and  he  awoke. 

For  a  moment  Reginald  found  it  impossible  to 
realize  the  radiant  vision  that  met  his  awakening 
glance,  yet  there  it  stood,  bright,  beautiful,  motionless. 
Again  he  looked  more  earnestly,  and  the  dark  and 
brilliant  eyes,  which  had  at  first  met  his  astonished 
gaze,  sunk  beneath  their  long  jetty  lashes. 

What  being  of  light  had  thus  penetrated  the 
cheerless  walls  of  his  prison  ?  Yet  it  was  evidently 
a  ^creature  of  earth's  mould,  for,  as  she  raised  one 
hand  to  shade  the  small  perfumed  lamp  held  in  the 
other,  the  light  was  thrown  more  perfectly  on  her 
own  face  and  form.  Fair  as  a  Moorish  maiden  might 
be,  the  features  which  a  jealous  but  transparent  veil 
permitted  to  be  seen  were  symmetrical  and  expressive, 


342  HOME  AND  THE  WOKLD. 

and  were  still  surpassed  by  the  grace  of  her  light 
elastic  form.  Her  redundant  and  glossy  hair,  dark 
as  the  raven's  wing,  was  braided  with  sparkling  gems 
and  oriental  flowers.  The  flowing  folds  of  a  robe  of 
purest  white  were  confined  around  her  waist  by  a 
zone  elaborately  embroidered  in  Arabic  characters, 
with  threads  of  gold  curiously  inwrought  with  pre- 
cious gems. 

Perceiving  that  Reginald  was  about  to  utter  an 
exclamation,  expressive  of  his  astonishment  at  this  un- 
expected apparition,  the  maiden  raised  her  hand  with 
a  warning  gesture,  and  hastily  pressing  her  finger  to 
her  lip,  as  if  to  impose  silence,  retreated  towards  the 
half  open  door  by  which  she  had  entered,  and  indi- 
cated to  him  that  he  was  at  liberty  to  follow. 

Reginald  unhesitatingly  availed  himself  of  the 
opportunity  of  escape  thus  offered.  Whatever  ad- 
ventures might  be  in  store  for  him,  they  could  not 
present  a  more  unpromising  aspect  than  those  he  had 
anticipated  during  the  brief  period  of  his  imprison- 
ment; and  there  was,  moreover,  a  romance  in  the 
manner  of  his  liberation  that  gave  it  an  additional 
charm  in  his  eyes. 

Abandoning  himself  to  the  direction  of  his  beau- 
tiful guide,  who  still  in  profound  silence  led  the  way, 
he  followed  her  footsteps,  while,  lightly  as  a  young 
antelope,  she  glided  over  a  narrow  pathway,  roughly 
paved  with  stone. 

The  moon  was  riding  high  in  the  cloudless  heaven, 
and  revealed  every  object  by  her  silvery  light  almost 
as  distinctly  as  if  the  day  had  dawned.  The  snow- 
white  robe  of  his  guide,  fluttering  in  the  summer 


AN    OASIS   IN   AN   AFRICAN   DESEKT.  343 

breeze,  alone  indicated  to  Reginald  the  route  he  was 
pursuing, — such  were  its  serpentine  windings  through 
the  thick  shrubbery  on  either  side. 

Though  following  rapidly  and  closely  on  her  foot- 
steps, for  an  instant,  and  at  a  sudden  turn,  he  lost 
sight  of  the  white  robe  of  his  conductress,  which  had 
until  then  illuminated  his  path  and  directed  his  steps. 
He  bounded  forward  with  renewed  speed,  but  he 
looked  for  her  in  vain.  Like  some  aerial  visitant  she 
had  appeared,  and  as  suddenly  vanished,  it  seemed, 
into  air. 

Confident,  however,  that  there  must  be  some  more 
substantial  reason  for  this  apparent  mystery,  Regi- 
nald advanced  to  the  spot  where  she  had  disappeared, 
and  perceived  a  small  door  half  concealed  by  the 
tangled  thicket.  Through  this  entrance  he  felt  satis- 
fied that  his  guide  had  vanished,  and  he  unhesitatingly 
followed.  She  was  nowhere  visible,  but  other  objects 
now  attracted  his  attention  and  surprise. 

Nature  and  art  seemed  to  have  rivalled  each  other 
in  the  creation  of  the  scene  that  opened  before  him. 
The  air  was  laden  with  "the  rich  perfume  of  the  citron 
and  orange  trees,  whose  white  blossoms  overhung  the 
smooth  walk,  bordered  with  flowers  of  every  variety 
of  beauty,  which  he  was  now  pursuing.  The  verdant 
turf  was  preserved  in  its  freshness  by  fountains  of 
crystal  purity,  throwing  up  their  sparkling  jets,  and 
falling  in  refreshing  showers,  formed  again  into  small 
rivulets,  flowing  with  a  gentle  murmur  over  their 
Mosaic  beds. 

The  minutest  and  most  delicate  care  seemed  to 
mark  every  part  of  this  spot  of  surpassing  loveliness, 


344  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

which  might  have  been  imagined  a  chosen  abode  of 
the  inhabitants  of  fairy  land. 

Reginald  advanced  slowly  through  this  scene  of 
enchantment,  whose  beauties  were  enhanced  by  the 
strange  contrast  of  all  around  him  with  the  rudeness 
of  the  entrance.  On  emerging  from  the  fragrant 
shades  of  the  citron  and  orange,  he  found  himself 
opposite  a  pavilion  surrounded  by  a  colonnade  of 
sculptured  marble,  gleaming  in  the  bright  moonlight. 
No  sound  was  heard  within,  and  it  was  with  some 
hesitation  that  he  entered  the  door,  invitingly  open 
before  him. 

There  was  in  truth  but  little  to  awaken  alarm,  for 
the  luxurious  delicacy  of  the  scene  within  excelled 
that  through  which  he  had  just  passed. 

The  large  circular  room  he  first  entered  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  number  of  other  apartments  commu- 
nicating with  it,  yet  all  apparently  destined  for  the 
same  occupant,  as  their  open  doors  seemed  to  indicate. 
A  delicious  coolness  was  diffused  through  this  spacious 
vestibule  by  a  jet  of  purest  water,  which  rose  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  falling  into  a  large  marble 
vase,  surrounded  with  freshly  blooming  flowers,  was 
lost  hi  a  subterranean  passage  beneath  the  tessellated 
pavement. 

The  soft  light  diffused  through  the  room  came  not 
from  the  lustre,  but  from  vases  of  alabaster,  so  dis- 
posed as  to  display  the  arabesque  ceiling  to  the  great- 
est advantage,  without  offending  the  eye  by  its  rays. 
A  fine  Flora  and  a  Pomona  on  either  side,  the  one 
offering  her  garland  of  flowers,  the  other  her  more 
substantial  emblems,  seemed  to  be  the  presiding 


AN   OASIS   IN   AN   AFRICAN   DESERT.  345 

divinities  of  the  place ;  and  as  Reginald  paused  at  the 
entrance,  he  almost  imagined  their  chiselled  beauties 
gifted  with  life. 

He  crossed  the  entrance-room,  and  advanced  to- 
ward one  of  those  adjoining  it.  The  same  display  of 
luxury  was  there.  For  an  instant  he  fancied  he  heard 
a  light  footstep, — he  listened, — there  was  no  sound 
but  that  made  by  the  gushing  fountain  and  the  breath 
of  the  summer  wind,  as  it  swept  lightly  in  and  rustled 
among  the  folds  of  Persian  silk  that  tapestried  the 
walls  and  draped  the  windows. 

Nor  amid  this  seeming  haunt  of  fairies  had  the 
comfort  essential  to  mortals  been  forgotten.  The 
luxurious  couch — the  oriental  bath — the  array  of 
sumptuous  apparel  in  the  Moorish  fashion,  and  lastly, 
a  delicate  repast  of  choicest  viands,  and  fruits,  and 
costly  wines, — all  these  disposed  with  sedulous  care 
in  the  various  apartments,  seemed  prepared  for  the 
use  of  an  expected  and  honored  guest. 

The  inhospitable  and  uncourteous  treatment  he 
had  met  with  on  his  first  arrival,  disposed  Reginald 
to  act  with  but  little  ceremony  ;  yet  he  felt  a  certain 
repugnance  to  intruding,  he  knew  not  where,  nor  upon 
whom.  Had  the  same  time  been  allowed  him  for  re- 
flection, when  he  so  unexpectedly  found  himself  im- 
prisoned, the  Moor  would  not  have  found  such  facility 
in  executing  his  design ;  but  it  had  been  the  work  of 
an  instant,  and  the  bolt  was  drawn  before  his  strength 
or  skill  could  have  availed  for  his  deliverance. 

The  whole  scene  was  now  changed — by  what  magic 
he  knew  not.  The  pavilion  was  untenanted  and  in- 


15* 


346  HOME  AND   THE   WOELD. 

viting,  but  it  might  be  only  a  decoy,  and  end  in  cost- 
ing him  his  life. 

His  doubts  were,  however,  partly  dispelled  by  ob- 
serving, as  a  rapid  glance  enabled  him  to  do,  that 
each  article  of  his  own  property  had  been  conspicu- 
ously disposed  in  one  of  the  apartments,  as  if  to  indi- 
cate to  him,  in  a  manner  not  to  be  misunderstood,  that 
he  was  to  consider  himself  the  guest  for  whom  this 
luxury  was  prepared.  The  coincidence  was  too  pleas- 
ing to  be  rejected,  and  without  farther  scruple  he 
availed  himself  of  the  privileges  offered,  and  soon 
again  found  in  quiet  repose  the  temporary  oblivion 
of  his  perplexities. 

The  birds  were  warbling  their  morning  roundelay, 
and  the  sun  pouring  a  flood  of  golden  light  on  every 
object,  as  Reginald  came  from  the  pavilion  to  inhale 
the  fresh  air,  after  passing  a  night  of  such  strange 
vicissitudes. 

He  traversed  the  beautiful  grounds  surrounding  it 
in  every  direction ;  but  notwithstanding  the  marks 
of  minute  care  lavished  on  them,  no  person  appeared. 
On  farther  examination,  he  found  that  the  extent  of 
these  grounds  was  made  to  seem  greater  than  the 
reality,  by  the  consummate  art  of  their  arrangement, 
and  that  they  were  bounded  on  every  side  by  a  wall 
of  great  strength  and  height,  entirely  hidden  from 
view  by  trees  and  climbing  plants.  Doors  of  entrance 
he  detected  in  several  places,  but  all  carefully  secured 
with  bolts  and  bars,  showing  him  but  too  plainly  that, 
however  gorgeous  might  be  his  prison,  he  was  still 
a  prisoner. 

This  minute  scrutiny  of  the  premises  required 


AN    OASIS   IN   AN   AFRICAN   DESERT.  347 

some  time,  and  he  found,  on  his  return  to  the  pavil- 
ion, evident  traces  of  stealthy  visitants,  who  had  dis- 
appeared after  restoring  the  order  he  had  found  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  which  had  been  somewhat 
disturbed  by  his  intrusion.  The  same  watchful  inge- 
nuity was  exercised  in  preparing  his  repasts,  which, 
from  their  delicacy,  might  well  have  been  supposed  to 
emanate  from  fairy  hands. 

The  novelty  of  his  position  served  for  a  few  hours 
to  beguile  impatience,  but  the  solitude  in  which  Regi- 
nald found  himself  gave  him  full  leisure  for  medita- 
tion, and  as  hour  after  hour  wore  silently  away,  he 
formed  a  thousand  different  conjectures,  and  made  as 
many  varied  resolutions  to  escape  from  his  imprison- 
ment by  some  means,  however  desperate. 

The  consciousness  of  being  under  perpetual  sur- 
veillance, while  those  in  whose  power  he  was  en- 
thralled were  at  liberty,  themselves  unseen,  to  guard 
him  with  argus  eyes,  became  more  and  more  irksome. 
He  determined  that,  if  possible,  another  night  and 
day  should  not  pass  before  he  had  solved  the  mystery 
and  claimed  his  release. 

The  shadows  of  evening  lengthened  across  the 
verdant  slope  leading  from  the  pavilion.  The  concert 
of  birds  gradually  melted  away  on  the  ear,  and  twilight 
was  fast  approaching,  as  Reginald,  lost  in  deep  thought, 
slowly  paced  the  fragrant  and  embowering  walks. 
The  moon,  bright  and  full,  rose  in  cloudless  splendor, 
throwing  a  silver  mantle  over  the  lovely  scene  before 
him.  But  it  had  lost  whatever  charm  it  might  have 
possessed  in  his  eyes,  and  his  thoughts  were  solely 
occupied  with  the  means  of  escape. 


348  HOME   AND   THE   WOBLD. 

He  was  busy  revolving  a  thousand  plans  presented 
by  his  imagination,  when  his  attention  was  arrested 
by  the  light  sound  of  a  guitar,  struck  by  the  hand  of 
no  unskilful  artist.  The  chords  trembled  in  the  sum- 
mer air,  and  came  with  something  more  than  musical 
cadence  to  his  ear,  for  they  broke  the  painful  solitude 
around  him,  and  seemed  by  their  gentle  tones  to  give 
a  promise  of  his  fondest  wish. 

He  approached  with  silence  and  caution  the  spot 
from  which  these  pleasing  sounds  emanated,  and  per- 
ceived, at  the  entrance  of  a  bower  of  clustering  myrtle 
and  roses,  the  white-robed  maiden  to  whom  he  had 
been  indebted  for  his  release  from  his  gloomy  prison- 
house.  Venturing  still  unseen  within  a  short  distance, 
he  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  her,  without  cre- 
ating any  alarm. 

There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  shade  on  her  beauti- 
ful features,  and  her  bosom  heaved  with  a  gentle 
sigh  as  she  swept  her  hand  over  the  strings,  and  in 
a  plaintive  voice  sang  a  few  stanzas  in  Spanish,  of  the 
ancient  Moorish  ballad,  "  La  pena  de  los  enamorados." 

Her  heart  seemed  in  full  unison  with  the  words, 
as  she  breathed  forth  in  softest  melody  the  vows  of 
the  unfortunate  lovers.  The  strain  rose  fuller  and 
higher,  as  she  pictured  their  stern  resolve  to  perish 
together ;  but  as  she  approached  the  final  catastrophe, 
her  voice  faltered — she  seemed  to  shrink  from  the 
precipice  and  the  foaming  flood  below  in  which  they 
were  ingulfed, — and  throwing  the  instrument  from 
her,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

There  was  a  world  of  romance  in  this  simple  ges- 
ture. It  told  a  tale  of  hopeless  love,  or  at  least  of 


AN    OASIS   IN   AN   AFRICAN   DESEKT.  349 

something  in  the  history  of  the  lovely  being  before 
him,  resembling  that  of  one  whom  her  plaintive  song 
commemorated. 

"  Here  then,  is  another  prisoner,"  said  Reginald  ; 
"  the  song  of  the  captive  betrays  her !  The  poor  bird 
flutters  wildly  against  the  wires  of  her  gilded  cage. 
I  may  hope  for  sympathy  here,  and  perhaps  for  what 
would  be  far  better,  deliverance  from  my  captivity." 

He  approached  the  bower  with  less  reserve,  and 
the  Moorish  maiden,  startled  by  his  footstep,  raised  her 
bright  eyes  toward  him.  As  he  advanced,  she  rose, 
but  manifested  no  alarm  at  his  presence.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  seemed  prepared  for  the  graceful  salutation 
with  which  he  came  forward,  and  returned  it  with 
equal  courtesy  in  the  Spanish  tongue,  in  which  he  ad- 
dressed her. 

"  That  strain  is  sad,  but  its  silvery  chords  were 
welcome,"  said  Reginald.  "  I  may  say  in  truth,  that 
no  music  ever  fell  on  my  ear  in  so  sweet  a  cadence." 

A  slight  smile  for  an  instant  brightened  the  dark 
eyes  of  the  maiden,  as  she  replied  "  I  can  well  sup- 
pose that  my  poor  song  may  have  imparted  pleasure, 
though  unworthy  in  itself,  since  the  imprisoned  eagle 
might  listen  joyously  to  the  chirp  of  the  linnet,  whose 
notes  gave  hope  of  his  restoration  to  freedom.  Yet 
I  came  hither  not  to  beguile  the  solitude  of  a  captive, 
but  to  express  my  regret  at  the  necessity  of  having 
deprived  him  of  liberty  for  so  many  hours,  and  to  tell 
him  that  he  is  once  more  free." 

"  Thanks,  gentle  maiden,"  said  Reginald,  assuming 
her  own  style,  "  for  the  welcome  information  you  bring 
me,  as  well  as  for  ah1  the  courtesy  I  have  received 


350  HOME   AND   THE   WOULD. 

from  hands  so  fair ;  but  I  fear  the  privilege  will  be  of 
but  little  avail,  cast,  as  I  am,  a  stranger  upon  a  foreign 
and  hostile  shore." 

"  It  is  not  our  wont,"  said  the  maiden,  raising  her 
beautiful  head  with  the  dignity  and  pride  of  a  princess, 
"  to  offer  gifts  that  are  not  only  worthless  in  them- 
selves, but  a  dishonor  to  the  donor.  No !  your  safety 
will  be  amply  secured,  though  you  may  dream  of 
naught  but  treachery  and  assassination.  Unhappily 
these  suspicions  are  too  well  justified  by  the  past ! " 
she  added  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

Notwithstanding  his  impatience  to  avail  himself 
of  the  freedom  thus  offered,  a  deep  interest  was 
awakened  in  the  mind  of  Reginald  by  the  sentiments 
he  had  just  heard,  and  the  lofty  tone  in  which  they 
were  expressed. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  as  the  color  rose  to  his 
cheek,  "  if  I  have  indulged  suspicions  of  one  so  noble 
and  so  fair ;  but  the  circumstances  in  which  I  have 
been  placed  may  best  plead  my  excuse." 

"  I  know  them  but  too  well,"  replied  the  maiden 
hastily,  "nor  should  I  feel  wounded  at  the  feeling 
they  naturally  elicit.  Yet  separated  as  I  am  from  the 
world,  and  in  ignorance  of  the  evils  and  of  the  terrors 
that  come  to  the  very  gates  of  this  my  fair  prison- 
house,  I  sometimes  forget  the  degradation  of  one  to 
whom  I  am  bound  by  fraternal  ties,  and  think  that, 
alone  and  friendless  as  we  are,  something  of  virtue 
and  high  feeling  may  be  left  to  us, — but  alas !  " — her 
voice  faltered,  and  a  bright  tear  glistened  through 
her  long  dark  lashes. 

"  It  would  be  but  a  waste  of  moments  too  pre- 


AN   OASIS   IN   AN   AFEICAN   DESEKT.  351 

cious  to  be  idly  squandered,"  she  continued,  "  to  ex- 
plain all  the  circumstances  that  seem  to  you  myste- 
rious in  your  detention  here.  Your  arrival  was  made 
known  to  me  by  him  whom  you  had  deeply  offended. 
His  sudden  departure,  though  his  erratic  movements 
never  excite  any  surprise,  left  me  at  liberty  to  follow 
the  dictates  of  my  own  feelings,  and  without  hesitat- 
ing a  moment,  I  determined  on  your  liberation.  The 
rest  you  know — farther  it  becomes  not  me  to  relate, 
nor  you  to  inquire." 

"  Yet  permit  me  one  word  more,  beautiful 
maiden,"  said  Reginald,  "  before  we  part,  and  it 
may  be  for  ever ; — why  is  it  that  one,  gifted  with  a 
heart  and  mind  of  such  rare  excellence,  should  be 
content  with  such  a  lot  ?  Have  you  no  fears  of  ser- 
pents concealed  beneath  these  lovely  flowers  that 
surround  you,  and  that  your  fairy  palace  may,  by 
some  fatal  cause  less  wonderful  than  magic,  be  con- 
verted into  a  dark  and  dreary  prison-house  ?  " 

The  maiden  shuddered.  "Fears  I  have  none," 
she  replied.  "Had  I  indulged  in  weakness,  you 
would  still  have  been  a  captive.  But  there  are  rea- 
sons why  I  must  be  content  with  my  lot.  I  cannot, 
without  treachery,  abandon  one  who,  whatever  may 
be  his  errors,  you  might  say  his  crimes,  has  been  my 
only  protector.  For  me  he  has  created  this  oasis  in 
the  desert,  to  recall  the  remembrance  of  our  loved 
and  lamented  Grenada,  beautiful  land  of  our  fore- 
fathers !  For  my  sake,  though  against  all  my  fervent 
remonstrances,  he  braves  the  perils  of  the  deep,  nor 
can  the  clearer  light,  that  has  dawned  on  my  mind, 
avail  to  arrest  the  war  he  believes  himself  justified  in 


352  HOME  AND  THE   WOULD. 

waging  on  his  brethren  of  other  lands.  His  resent- 
ment I  could  bear,  for  I  felt  it  in  its  extremity  when 
I  forsook  the  faith  of  our  ancestors, — but  I  will  neither 
forsake  nor  betray  him.  The  day  is  approaching  when 
he  may  bitterly  rue  the  past.  Even  now  threatening 
armaments  beleaguer  our  shores.  Brave  as  he  is,  he 
may  yet,  like  Abdallah  of  old,  weep  as  a  woman  for 
what  he  cannot  defend  as  a  man.  I  know  not  your 
country,  nor  whether  you  are  among  our  enemies,  but 
if  you  ever  have  the  power  I  now  possess,  employ 
it  as  I  have  done,  and  by  this  token,  forget  not — 
Zulema ! » 

As  she  spoke,  she  disengaged  a  richly  embroidered 
scarf  from  her  waist,  and  gracefully  threw  it  towards 
him.  Even  Constance  would  have  approved  the  fer- 
vor and  respect  with  which  he  caught  the  talismanic 
gift,  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart.  Satisfied  with  this 
mute  acknowledgment  of  her  request,  the  maiden 
touched  her  lips  with  her  finger  as  if  to  interdict  far- 
ther communication,  and  approaching  the  door  of 
entrance  near  which  they  now  stood,  clapped  her 
hands. 

At  the  signal  its  portals  flew  open,  and  Reginald 
saw  a  Moor  holding  by  their  bridles  two  Arab  horses 
richly  caparisoned.  One  parting  glance  he  threw  on 
the  beautiful  maiden.  A  gentle  wave  of  her  hand 
spoke  as  expressively  as  words  could  have  done,  and 
in  another  instant  she  had  disappeared. 

Reginald  sprung  lightly  on  the  impatient  courser, 
and  following  his  guide  down  the  rocky  and  precipi- 
tous descent,  soon  found  himself  sweeping  with  the 
wind  over  the  sandy  plain  leading  to  the  beach.  The 


AN   OASIS   IN   AN   AFRICAN   DESERT.  353 

same  silence  and  celerity  that  had  marked  his  landing, 
attended  his  entrance  into  a  Moorish  galley  anchored 
near  the  shore. 

The  dark  outline  of  a  frigate,  from  whose  mast 
was  floating  the  broad  white  flag  of  France,  soon  rose 
on  his  view,  nor  could  he  be  blamed  for  his  acquies- 
cence in  the  ruse  employed  by  the  Moorish  galley  for 
venturing  to  approach  her.  It  may  suffice  to  say 
that  in  a  few  hours  he  was  safely  sheltered  beneath 
her  protecting  care. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    TORNADO. 

THE  freshness  of  spring  had  passed  away,  and  the 
summer  heats  began  to  warn  the  inhabitants  of  the 
metropolis  that  health  and  comfort  equally  demanded 
a  cooler  and  more  pleasant  atmosphere  than  that  found 
within  its  waUs. 

The  court  retired  to  the  shades  of  4heir  beautiful 
residence  at  St.  Cloud,  and  the  Count  and  Countess 
of  Castellamare  had  returned  to  their  kingdom,  and 
resumed  their  regal  titles. 

There  was  still  some  verdure  in  the  gardens,  but 
the  trees  of  the  Champs  £lysees,  in  the  long  intervals 
of  the  summer  showers,  looked  like  the  powdered 
beauties  of  the  court  of  Louis  Quinze,  and  as  if  shel- 
tering their  waning  charms  beneath  a  disguise  that 
gave  to  each  individual  the  same  physiognomy,  the 
dust  and  the  powder  hiding  alike  the  freshness  of 
youth  and  the  lines  of  age,  and  concealing  the  ap- 
proaches of  autumnal  gray. 

Constance  listened  to  the  monotonous  song  of  the 
merlin  beneath  her  window,  accompanied  by  the 
plash  of  the  fountain.  She  thought  of  the  full  choir 


A  TORNADO.  355 

of  birds  in  the  groves  of  her  old  home,  where  she 
had  rambled  in  perfect  liberty,  and  she  sighed  for  the 
privileges  she  had  there  enjoyed.  The  inhabitants  of 
the  city,  as  well  as  the  temporary  sojourners  in  it, 
were  forming  plans  of  release  from  its  confinement, 
the  natives  retiring  to  their  chateaux  in  the  country, 
the  strangers  dispersing  to  fashionable  watering- 
places, — to  Dieppe,  then  patronized  by  the  court, — to 
Boulogne, — to  Baden  Baden, — or  to  the  still  cooler 
regions  of  the  Pyrenees  or  the  Alps. 

Beatrice  and  Constance  often  met  to  discuss  plans 
which  they  had  laid  for  passing  several  weeks  together, 
during  the  heat  of  the  season,  at  some  eligible  retreat, 
not  doubting  their  influence  in  persuading  older  and 
wiser  people,  on  whom  they  relied  for  the  execution 
of  their  agreeable  projects,  to  enter  into  their  views 
and  wishes. 

They  were  sitting  together  one  morning,  when  the 
day  was  in  early  freshness.  A  shower  of  the  pre- 
ceding night  had  cooled  the  air,  and  the  light  clouds, 
still  partially  obscuring  the  sun,  gave  them  promise 
of  a  few  hours'  respite  from  the  heat,  which  had  be- 
come oppressive. 

Beatrice  was  engaged  in  sketching  a  portrait  of 
her  friend,  and  both  were  silent,  Constance  endeavor- 
ing to  obey  her  injunctions  to  remain  perfectly  quiet, 
until  certain  touches  about  the  eyes  and  lips  should 
complete  the  resemblance  of  the  picture;  The  pencil 
moved  rapidly  for  a  moment,  then  paused,  then  went 
on  again, — the  touches  were  rubbed  out  and  re- 
commenced. 

"  Ah,  Constance ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  should  have 


356  HOME  AND  THE   WORLD. 

as  much  success  in  painting  the  rainbow  that  we  ad- 
mired together  last  evening  after  the  shower.  I  shall 
never  succeed  in  taking  your  portrait,  for  your  eyes 
and  lips  change  every  moment.  But  indeed  it  is  not 
my  fault,  for  you  saw  the  likeness  I  made  of  my 
father,  and  you  pronounced  it  perfect." 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  despair  yet,"  said  Constance 
smiling,  "  though  I  have  been  told  that  my  face  is  as 
full  of  changes  as  an  April  morning.  Try  again :  I 
will  sit  as  still  as  a  little  mouse." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  replied  Beatrice ;  "  I  have  no  fault 
to  find  with  your  patience,  which  I  confess  has  been 
most  exemplary  under  the  trial  to  which  I  subject  it ; 
but  you  cannot  prevent  your  thoughts  from  giving  a 
constantly  varying  expression  to  your  face.  I  felt 
particularly  anxious  to  succeed  in  this  portrait,  for  I 
intended  to  be  very  generous.  I  should  not  have 
kept  it  for  myself.  There ! "  she  exclaimed,  hastily 
resuming  her  brush,  "  what  a  lovely  color  mounted  to 
your  cheeks  at  that  moment !  I  must  catch  that  tint 
before  it  vanishes." 

The  work  went  on  diligently  for  a  few  moments ; 
but  the  rose  tint  that  had  attracted  her  attention  sub- 
sided, and  Beatrice  paused  and  pondered  over  a  little 
dJmple  in  the 'corner  of  the  lip. 

"  I  have  chased  that  dimple  from  corner  to  cor- 
ner," she  said,  "  and  it  actually  plays  at  hide-and-seek 
with  me.  I  shall  never  catch  it ;  the  friend  for  whom 
I  designed  my  portrait  will  be  disappointed  at  last." 

"  It  will  not  be  a  great  disappointment,  I  imagine," 
said  Constance,  "  for  I  think  I  have  no  friends  here 
out  of  my  own  family,  with  whom  I  am  sufficiently 


A   TOENADO.  357 

acquainted,  to  hope  that  my  portrait  would  have  spe- 
cial value  in  their  eyes." 

"  Ah,  Innocence !  "  returned  Beatrice  with  an  arch 
smile.  "  But  you  have  a  friend  elsewhere  who  would 
be  too  happy  to  be  put  in  possession  of  such  a  treasure. 
There  is  my  rose  tint  again !  "  And  again  she  plied 
her  brush  rapidly  on  the  picture. 

"  I  believe  I  must  rest  satisfied  with  my  sitting  of 
this  morning,"  she  continued,  laying  the  brush  down, 
"  for  I  shall  certainly  spoil  my  work  if  I  add  another 
touch  after  the  momentary  inspiration  I  had  just  now. 
I  really  feel  anxious  for  the  success  of  my  portrait,  for 
I  know  how  much  it  will  be  valued." 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  me  for  whom  you  design 
it,"  said  Constance  blushing  deeply,  while  her  eyes 
were  cast  down  beneath  the  arch  glance  of  her  friend. 

"  No,  that  is  my  secret,"  replied  Beatrice  laugh- 
ing. "  But  do  you  know  that  I  shall  soon  have  the 
pleasure  of  presenting  the  happy  owner  to  you  ?  Let- 
ters from  Milan  inform  us  that  he  will  soon  be  here." 

"  Letters  from  Milan,  doubtless,  bring  tidings  of  a 
dear  friend,"  said  Constance  with  an  arch  glance  on 
her  part,  and  it  was  now  the  turn  of  Beatrice  to  blush. 
"  But  I  should  not  think  he  would  feel  much  interest 
in  the  portrait  of  a  person  he  had  never  seen." 

"  I  must  then  be  more  explicit,"  returned  Beatrice, 
"  since  you  will  not  understand  my  allusion  to  one  for 
whom  I  must  ever  entertain  sentiments  of  the  highest 
esteem.  I  can  never  think  of  that  dreadful  adventure 
I  have  so  often  mentioned  to  you,  without  shuddering, 
nor  of  my  deliverer,  without  an  emotion  of  enthusiastic 
gratitude.  I  rejoice  to  learn  that  he  will  be  here 


358  HOME   AND  THE   WORLD. 

soon,  and  that  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  express- 
ing the  thanks  he  was  too  modest  to  receive  at  the 
happy  moment  that  succeeded  those  terrible  events. 

"  But  I  must  now  leave  you,"  she  continued,  "  for 
my  poor  aunt  is  unusually  nervous  to-day ;  and  as  my 
father  went  to  Versailles  this  morning  to  pass  the  day 
with  a  friend  there,  I  cannot  long  be  absent  from 
her." 

She  gathered  up  her  brushes,  and  disposing  of  the 
unfinished  portrait  on  the  easel  hi  a  corner  of  the 
room,  kissed  the  cheek  of  her  friend,  and  retired  to 
her  own  apartments. 

Left  to  herself,  Constance  was  soon  absorbed  in  a 
pleasing  reverie.  Reginald  was  then  about  to  return, 
and  the  painful  mystery,  that  had  darkened  the  last 
day  they  had  met  and  parted  so  unsatisfactorily,  would 
at  length  be  dissipated.  He  would  find  that  his  im- 
pressions were  groundless,  and  then — 

But  the  thoughts  of  what  might  be  the  conse- 
quence of  the  anticipated  explanation  were  banished 
by  the  reappearance  of  her  friend.  Beatrice  had  been 
absent  not  more  than  half  an  hour,  when  she  came 
hastily  back  again. 

Constance  rose  to  assist  her,  as  she  supposed,  in 
finding  something  that  she  had  left,  when  she  was 
shocked  to  perceive  that  Beatrice  was  mortally  pale, 
and  trembling  with  agitation,  so  great  that  she  seemed 
near  fainting. 

"  Oh  Constance ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  If  you  had 
seen  him, — it  was  terrible ! " 

"  Seen  whom  ?  "  said  Constance,  greatly  alarmed, 
and  dreading  the  revelation  of  some  fatal  accident. 


A   TORNADO.  359 

"  It  is  not  what  you  suppose,"  said  Beatrice,  di- 
vining the  thought  of  her  friend,  and  recovering  some 
degree  of  composure.  "  Nothing  has  happened.  But 
on  my  return  just  now,  I  found  Victor,  who  seems  to 
me  like  a  person  out  of  his  senses.  He  spoke  in  the 
wildest,  the  most  incoherent  manner  of  '  dark  myste- 
ries ' — '  a  coming  revolution ' — '  plans  for  assassinating 
the  Duke  of  Orleans,' — and  ended  at  last  by  putting 
this  letter  into  my  hand  and  bidding  me  bring  it  in- 
stantly to  your  father,  and  to  request  him  to  take  it 
without  a  moment's  delay  to  the  duchess,  who  is  now 
at  her  chateau  at  Neuilly.  Victor  then,  raving  like 
an  insane  person,  left  the  house." 

"  It  is  most  unfortunate,  dear  Beatrice,"  said  Con- 
stance, "  that  my  father,  as  well  as  yours,  left  the  city 
to-day  for  a  visit  to  a  friend  in  the  country,  and  he 
will  not  return  before  the  evening.  Can  we  not  send 
the  letter  by  a  messenger  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  Victor  charged  me  not 
to  entrust  it  to  a  servant,  and  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to 
proceed." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at 
the  door.  Constance  rose  to  open  it,  and  found  An- 
toine,  who  asked  permission  to  speak  to  her  father. 
He  seemed  perplexed  and  uncertain  what  to  say,  on 
learning  that  Mr.  Melville  was  absent  and  would  not 
return  before  the  evening,  and  evidently  hesitated  to 
speak  on  the  subject  he  came  to  communicate,  before 
a  stranger  as  Beatrice  was  to  him. 

At  length  he  said :  "  There  is  no  time  to  be  lost, 
and  I  must  speak.  I  came  to  entreat  you  to  let  me 
see  your  father,  that  I  might  give  him  this  letter, 


360  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

and  beg  him  to  deliver  it  to  the  Duchess  of  Orleans 
herself." 

"  This  is  a  strange  coincidence,  Beatrice,"  said  Con- 
stance. "  These  letters  seem  to  be  of  vital  importance, 
and  they  ought  to  be  sent  without  delay.  Can  you 
not  take  them  yourself,  Antoine  ?  "  she  added,  turn- 
ing to  him.  "  You  would  be  the  most  trusty  messen- 
ger I  know." 

"  I  would  take  the  letters  with  all  my  heart,"  re- 
plied Antoine,  "  but  what  chance  would  a  poor  fellow 
like  me  have  to  make  the  porter  deliver  them  as  soon 
as  they  are  received  ?  They  would  pass  for  some  im- 
portunate petitions  for  money  or  assistance,  among 
thousands  left  for  the  duke  every  day,  and  might  not 
be  read  until  to-morrow,  if  read  at  all.  And  to- 
morrow !  Oh,  my  dear  young  lady !  for  God's  sake 
find  some  messenger,  who  will  put  this  letter  that  I 
bring  into  the  hands  of  the  duke  or  his  noble  duchess 
before  that  to-morrow  comes,  for  you  know  not  what 
it  may  bring  forth  ! " 

His  agitation  was  so  great  that  he  trembled  and 
turned  pale  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  will  consult  with  my  mother,"  said  Constance  ; 
"  she  may  perhaps  direct  us  in  this  matter,  which  you 
seem  to  consider  so  important." 

Mrs.  Melville  was  indisposed,  and  had  not  left  her 
room  that  morning.  Constance  went  softly  to  her 
bedside,  and  opened  the  curtains. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  disturbing  me,  my 
child,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  observing  that  her  daugh- 
ter hesitated  to  speak.  "  I  was  about  to  rise,  for  I 


A  TOKNADO.  361 

think  I  should  be  more  comfortable.    But  what  is  the 
matter  ?  You  seem  to  be  agitated." 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter  with  me,  dear  mamma," 
replied  Constance,  "  but  here  is  a  very  singular  co- 
incidence with  regard  to  these  two  letters  I  hold  in 
my  hand,  both  of  them  addressed  to  the  Duchess  of 
Orleans,  with  a  request  to  papa  to  deliver  them  in 
person.  As  he  is  not  here,  and  will  not  return  from 
the  country  until  the  evening,  I  did  not  know  what 
answer  to  make ;  I  cannot  imagine  what  the  letters 
contain,  but  they  must  be  of  great  consequence,  since 
they  come  from  different  quarters,  with  the  same 
earnest  entreaties  that  they  may  be  delivered  without 
a  moment's  delay.  Beatrice  brought  one,  which  she 
says  was  left  by  her  cousin  M.  Victor  Delorme.  The 
other  Antoine  brought,  and  all  the  persons  I  have 
seen,  connected  with  these  mysterious  letters,  seem  to 
be  agitated  and  alarmed." 

"  The  delivery  of  the  letters  is  simple  enough," 
said  Mrs.  Melville,  "  and  involves  only  an  agreeable 
drive  through  the  avenue  of  Neuilly,  which  we  take 
every  day,  though  it  does  not  extend  exactly  to  the 
chateau.  If  I  were  well  enough,  I  should  accompany 
you ;  but  my  protection  is  not  necessary  for  a  morn- 
ing drive.  Under  the  circumstances,  the  duchess  will 
not  think  it  enterprenante  if  you  and  your  young  friend, 
with  little  Alice,  take  an  airing  together,  and  extend 
your  drive  as  far  as  the  chateau,  where  you  can  de- 
liver the  letters  in  person." 

Constance  immediately  returned  with  this  propo- 
sition.   Antoine  made  his  best  bow,  and  with  many 
thanks,  retired. 
16 


362  HOME   AND  THE   WORLD. 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  accompany  you,"  said 
Beatrice,  "  but  my  aunt  really  needs  my  society  this 
morning,  and  I  have  promised  to  pass  the  next  two 
hours  in  reading  to  her.  I  do  not  think  you  will  be 
tempted  to  prolong  your  drive  farther  than  the 
Chateau  de  Neuilly,  for  it  will  probably  be  very  warm 
after  the  effect  of  yesterday's  shower  is  past," — and 
again  she  took  her  leave. 

Constance,  with  little  Alice  as  her  companion,  was 
soon  prepared  for  her  mission,  which  the  amiable 
simplicity  of  manners,  that  distinguished  the  noble 
family  of  Orleans,  divested  of  any  appearance  of  sin- 
gularity ;  and  without  trepidation  she  proceeded  on 
the  excursion  in  which  she  daily  accompanied  her 
mother  in  their  drives  through  the  Avenue  de  Neuilly, 
leading  directly  to  the  duke's  residence. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  the  porter's  lodge,  and 
the  servant  inquired  if  the  duchess  received.  The 
porter  pointed  to  several  persons  walking  in  the 
grounds.  "  At  this  hour,"  he  said,  "  the  family  are 
generally  taking  their  morning  walk.  If  the  young 
lady  pleases,  she  can  join  them." 

Constance  alighted,  and  leaving  the  carriage  at 
the  lodge,  walked  through  the  gateway  and  entered 
the  grounds.  She  approached  the  duchess,  who  re- 
ceived her  with  graceful  courtesy,  and  presented  the 
letters,  mentioning  at  the  same  time  the  circumstances 
under  which  she  had  undertaken  to  deliver  them,  as 
an  apology  for  a  visit  that  might  otherwise  have 
seemed  presuming. 

The  duchess  took  the  letters  with  a  kindly  smile, 
assuring  Constance  that  she  was  happy  to  have  so 


A  TOBNADO.  363 

charming  a  messenger.  But  on  casting  her  eyes  over 
one  of  the  letters,  she  turned  deadly  pale,  and  sunk 
on  a  seat,  which  was  happily  near  her. 

"  My  child  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  Who  gave  you 
these  letters  ?  " 

"  One  of  them  was  given  me  by  the  Signorina 
Beatrice  de  Visconti,"  replied  Constance,  "and  she 
informed  me  that  her  kinsman,  M.  Victor  Delorme, 
requested  it  to  be  sent  to  your  Highness  without 
delay." 

The  duchess  broke  the  seal  of  the  other  letter. 
Her  agitation  increased.  "  And  this  one ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, glancing  over  it,  with  occasional  expressions 
of  terror,  "  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

"  That  one  was  given  me  by  a  very  humble  per- 
son," replied  Constance,  "only  a  poor  Swiss  gar- 
dener." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  the  character  of  this 
person  ?  "  inquired  the  duchess  anxiously. 

"  I  believe  him  to  be  honest  and  faithful,"  replied 
Constance.  "  We  have  found  him  so,  during  the  brief 
period  of  our  residence  here." 

"  Then  receive  my  best  thanks,  my  dear  child," 
said  the  duchess,  "  and  hasten  back  to  your  father's 
protection  without  losing  a  moment,  for  there  is  a  lion 
in  your  path.  God  bless  you — Adieu  !  " 

She  rose  and  walked  hastily  to  the  house.  Con- 
stance returned  to  the  carriage  that  awaited  her 
without,  musing  on  the  strange  agitation  caused  by 
the  letters,  which  seemed  to  reveal  a  secret  so  terrible 
both  to  the  writers  and  to  the  receiver. 

As  Beatrice  had  predicted,  the  day  began  to  lose 


364  HOME  AND  THE  WOULD. 

the  temporary  freshness  imparted  to  it  by  the  shower 
of  the  preceding  evening,  and  the  sun  became  too 
warm  to  render  a  drive  farther  than  the  chateau, 
pleasant.  She  therefore  simply  gave  the  order  to 
return  home,  and  beguiled  the  way  with  the  playful 
prattle  of  little  Alice. 

"  How  I  love  to  see  those  soldiers,  and  to  hear  the 
bands  of  music  ! "  exclaimed  Alice,  as  they  passed  the 
Barriere  de  L'Etoile  on  their  way  back.  "  Only  see, 
sister,  what  a  number  of  troops  !  " 

Constance  looked,  and  found  as  she  had  said,  that 
the  avenue  was  filling  with  troops  of  the  line  marching 
in  detached  regiments. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  you  may  find  them  amusing 
to  you,  but  our  horses  do  not  find  them  so  to  them  : 
see  how  restless  they  are !  I  am  glad  to  see  that 
Eugene  is  about  to  turn  out  of  the  Champs  Elysees, 
for  it  might  be  dangerous  for  us  to  pass  by  all  those 
troops." 

As  she  spoke,  the  coachman  turned  out  of  the 
avenue  into  a  side-street  leading  through  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Honore,  and  drove  rapidly  to  the  rue 
Royale.  A  sudden  halt,  and  a  vehement  exclamation 
from  the  servant,  awakened  her  curiosity,  and  draw- 
ing up  the  silk  curtain  that  had  screened  her  from  the 
sun,  Constance  perceived  that  the  carriage  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  men,  some  in  blouzes,  some 
better  dressed,  but  all  evidently  under  the  influence 
of  strong  excitement,  and  talking  rapidly  and  earnestly 
together.  Two  of  these  men  had  seized  the  reins  of 
the  horses  on  either  side. 

"  Parbleu  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  these  men,  in  reply 


A  TORNADO.  365 

to  the  angry  expostulation  of  the  coachman,  "you 
cannot  pass  here !  What  ill  wind  blew  you  to  this 
place ; — why  did  you  not  go  by  the  Champs  Elys6es  ?  " 

"  Because  the  avenue  was  full  of  troops,"  said  the 
footman  deprecatingly.  "  It  was  impossible." 

"  Impossible  ? — well,  diable  !  it  is  impossible  here, 
too, — so  begone  ! " 

The  carriage  was  now  surrounded  on  every  side 
by  the  crowd,  increasing  constantly  in  numbers  and 
density.  Constance,  terrified  at  the  violence  of  the 
altercation,  knew  not  what  course  to  take.  Her 
alarm  was  somewhat  abated  by  perceiving  the  honest 
countenance  of  Antoine  in  the  throng.  He  was  forcing 
his  way  through  it,  and  approached  the  chariot  win- 
dow, from  which  she  was  looking  out  on  the  gathering 
multitude. 

"  Do  not  be  terrified,  dear  young  lady,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "  These  people  will  not  molest  you, 
if  you  retain  your  self-possession,  and  do  not  show  too 
much  fear  of  them.  But  you  will  be  compelled  to 
leave  the  carriage,  for  it  can  neither  retreat  nor  go 
forward." 

At  the  moment  he  spoke,  the  sharp,  ringing  sound 
of  an  axe  struck  her  ear,  and  Constance  saw  that  two 
men  were  busily  engaged  in  cutting  down  one  of  the 
fine  trees  that  shaded  the  street.  It  fell  with  a  tre- 
mendous crash  behind  the  carriage.  A  barricade 
made  of  the  large  square  paving  stones  with  which 
the  street  had  been  laid,  and  hastily  torn  up  for  the 
purpose,  was  rapidly  rising  in  front  of  it. 

Antoine  assisted  the  trembling  Constance  and  her 
little  companion  to  descend  from  the  chariot. 


366  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  Courage ! "  he  said  to  her,  still  speaking  in  a  low 
voice,  "  there  is  help  at  hand  ! — one  who  will  guard 
you  better  than  I  can.  Let  the  young  lady  pass ! " 
he  said  in  an  authoritative  tone  to  the  people  nearest 
him.  "  Give  the  servants  their  horses ;  thej;  have 
nothing  to  do  with  this  affair.  Let  the  young  lady 
pass,  and  I  will  take  care  of  the  child." 

A  few  persons  hi  the  crowd  nearest  him  seemed 
disposed  to  obey  the  order.  It  was  given  boldly,  and 
whether  he  had  authority  or  not,  in  the  confusion  of 
the  moment  it  was  not  contradicted.  The  coachman 
and  footman  were  dismissed  with  the  horses,  and 
Antoine  took  the  weeping  Alice  in  his  arms.  Con- 
stance, summoning  all  her  strength,  followed  him  a 
few  steps,  but  the  crowd  continued  to  press  around 
her.  Every  avenue  of  escape  seemed  rapidly  closing, 
when  a  man  forced  his  way  through  the  throng,  and 
approached  the  spot  where  she  was  standing  almost 
petrified  with  terror.  A  glance  sufficed  to  reassure 
her, — a  protector  was  at  hand. 

"  Oh,  Reginald ! "  she  exclaimed,  forgetting  all 
form  or  ceremony  in  her  alarm,  nor  once  thinking  of 
the  thrill  those  two  simple  familiar  words  sent  to  his 
heart,  "  you  will  protect  me  ! " 

"  With  my  life ! "  he  answered  fervently,  as  she 
clung  to  his  arm. 

Antoine,  believing  his  loved  benefactress  safe  with 
such  a  protector,  speedily  threaded  his  way  through 
the  busy  multitude  with  Alice  in  his  arms.  Reginald 
and  Constance  followed,  until  the  crowd  pressed  be- 
tween them.  The  sharp,  ringing  sound  of  the  axes 
still  continued,  and  a  moment  after  they  had  left  the 


A  TORNADO.  367 

spot,  another  of  the  fine  elms  fell  crashing  across  the 
street,  and  embracing  in  its  fall  the  handsome  vehicle, 
now  only  a  confused  mass  of  crushed  and  glittering 
fragments.  Constance  shuddered,  and  pressed  closer 
to  the  protecting  arm. 

"  Whither  so  fast,  young  sir  ?  »  said  a  man  in  the 
crowd  to  Reginald.  "  We  suffer  no  idlers  nor  loungers 
here.  What  are  you  doing  among  us  ?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  affairs,"  replied 
Reginald.  "Let  us  pass!"  and  he  endeavored  to 
force  his  way  forward. 

"  Parbleu !  not  till  you  give  some  account  of 
yourself,"  said  the  man  ;  "  for  though  you  seem  to  be 
a  foreigner,  you  may  be  a  royalist  too.  As  for  the 
young  lady,  she  carries  the  Bourbon  lilies  in  her  face," 
he  added,  looking  at  the  pale  cheeks  of  Constance. 
"  Come,  young  man,  tell  me  on  your  honor, — are  you 
Republican  or  Royalist  ?  Answer  me  truly." 

"  Republican,"  said  Reginald  boldly,  though  feel- 
ing never  less  disposed  than  at  a  moment  when  he 
saw  a  republic  in  such  hands,  to  acknowledge  his  own 
political  allegiance. 

"  Indeed ! "  said  his  persecutor,  still  barring  the 
way,  "  where  then  is  the  tri-color  ?  Why  do  you  not 
wear  it  ?  "  And  he  pointed  to  the  tri-colored  cockade 
in  his  rusty  hat,  and  another  in  his  button  hole. 
"  Where  is  the  tri-color,  I  say  ?  " 

A  thought  flashed  across  Reginald's  mind.  He 
put  his  hand  on  his  breast, — "  in  my  heart,"  he  replied. 
The  bon-mot  acted  like  a  charm. 

"  Bravo !  Bravo ! "  was  repeated  on  all  sides 
among  the  crowd,  which  opened  right  and  left  to 


368  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

permit  Reginald  a  passage  through  their  ranks  with 
his  companion. 

They  lost  not  a  moment  in  availing  themselves  of 
it,  and  walked  on  as  rapidly  as  the  tremor  of  Con- 
stance would  allow.  A  few  half-whispered  words  of 
assurance  from  Reginald  alone  broke  the  silence. 
They  traversed  the  Place  Louis  Quinze  and  the  gar- 
den of  the  Tuileries,  crossed  the  bridge,  and  entered 
the  street  leading  to  Mr.  Melville's  residence  in  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

As  they  advanced,  a  crowd  of  men,  rapidly  in- 
creasing in  numbers,  arrested  their  farther  progress. 

"  Whither  so  fast,  pretty  one  ?  "  said  their  leader 
boldly  to  Constance,  who  drew  her  veil  over  her  face 
to  avoid  the  unpleasant  gaze.  "  All  who  pass  here 
give  an  account  of  themselves,"  he  continued,  turning 
towards  Reginald. 

But  the  moment  his  eye  rested  on  Reginald,  an 
expression  of  the  deadliest  hatred  passed  over  his 
face, — the  livid  hue  of  rage  blanched  his  lips,  and  his 
eyes  glittered  with  basilisk  ferocity. 

"  Sacr& !  Traitre ! "  he  exclaimed  through  his 
clenched  teeth,  rolling  the  words  as  none  but  an  in- 
furiated Gaul  can  do,  "  I  bade  you,  beware !  when  we 
met  and  parted  at  Sens.  The  hour  of  vengeance  is 
come  !  You  shall  feel  what  it  is  to  be  deprived  of 
what  you  most  value  !  " 

He  drew  a  pistol  from  beneath  his  mantle,  where 
it  had  been  concealed,  and  levelled  it  at  Constance. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Reginald  threw 
himself  between  the  assassin  and  the  defenceless  girl. 
His  attempt  to  snatch  the  weapon  was  vain ; — it  was 


A  TOENADO.  369 

discharged,  and  the  ball  entered  his  side.  Reginald 
staggered  back  a  few  paces,  and  a  grim  smile  passed 
over  the  features  of  Dubourg. 

"  Oh,  my  God ! "  exclaimed  Constance  with  a 
shriek  of  agony,  and  wringing  her  hands  in  despair, — 
"  Reginald !  you  are  murdered  ! — and  for  me  ! " 

But  the  "  avenger  of  blood "  was  at  hand.  At 
that  instant  a  troop  of  the  royal  guard  rode  furiously 
down  the  street,  charging  on  all  the  groups  they  met 
with.  They  had  been  fired  on  by  the  populace,  and 
were  doubly  irritated  by  opposition.  The  gallant 
young  horsemen  swept  by  Reginald  and  Constance, 
now  separated  from  the  throng,  and  spurred  on  toward 
the  place  where  the  multitude  had  turned  and  stood 
at  bay. 

Their  leader,  Dubourg,  infuriated  by  his  recent 
encounter,  forgot  every  precaution,  and  encouraged 
his  followers  to  stand  their  ground.  The  cavalry 
charged  on  them,  and  they  were  swept  away  like 
chaff  before  the  wind.  The  glittering  sword  of  a 
young  horseman  dealt  justice  upon  the  assassin.  His 
keen  blade  reached  the  fertile  brain  that  had  so  often 
been  exercised  in  evil, — the  guilty  hand  was  power- 
less,— the  feet  that  had  been  "  swift  to  shed  blood  " 
availed  no  longer  to  escape  well-merited  vengeance. 
Dubourg  fell  on  that  spot,  and  the  whole  troop 
charged  over  his  lifeless  body. 

The  scene  passed  like  a  swift  and  terrible  vision, 
leaving  the  street  blank  and  deserted.  Not  a  living 
being  was  in  sight,  and  every  house  was  barred  and 
bolted. 

Send  help  to   these  desolate   ones,  oh  heaven ! 


370  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

for  there  is  none  now  for  them  in  any  "child  of 
man ! " 

Reginald  pressed  his  hand  on  his  wounded  side. 
"  I  have  strength  enough  left,"  he  said,  "  to  reach 
your  house.  Do  not  be  so  much  alarmed — I  am 
wounded,  but  not  so  fatally  as  you  imagine." 

Constance  passed  her  trembling  arm  through  his, 
and  he  walked  on  firmly  for  a  few  steps.  They  drew 
near  her  father's  door ;  she  felt  that  he  tottered  ;  ms 
cheek  grew  paler  and  paler. 

The  door  of  the  porte  cochere  opened,  and  Regi- 
nald fell  bleeding  and  insensible  into  the  arms  of  the 
faithful  Antoine. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A    BRILLIANT    DESTINY. 

THE  remembrance  of  the  revolution  of  the  trots 
journees,  which  swept  like  a  tornado  of  er  the  French 
capital,  has  been,  since  that  epoch,  almost  obliterated 
by  other  and  equally  terrible  days  and  events.  The 
calm  which  had  hushed  the  raging  elements  of  strife 
into  an  ominous  stillness  before  the  tremendous  storm 
burst  forth,  the  brilliant  fetes  of  the  court  which  im- 
mediately preceded  it, — proving  as  they  did  the  unsus- 
picious security  of  the  sovereign  and  his  ministers, — 
gave  it  a  more  electrical  and  startling  effect.  Had  a 
thunderbolt  from  a  clear  sky  fallen  at  their  feet,  it 
could  not  have  astonished  them  more. 

Three  brief  sentences,  announcing  as  they  did  the 
beginning  of  the  revolution  to  General  Lafayette,  who 
was  at  that  moment  in  quiet  seclusion  at  his  chateau 
of  Lagrange,  will  explain  the  causes  which  set  fire  to 
the  train  secretly  prepared  for  many  months,  if  not 
years,  before  the  explosion. 

The  suspicions  which  the  friends  of  the  court 
naturally  pointed  against  the  avowed  champion  of 
Republican  Government,  as  the  author  and  immediate 


372  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

instigator  of  those  troubles,  were  unfounded.  A  day 
only  had  elapsed  since  the  invitation  of  the  king  to 
attend  the  meeting  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
couched  in  the  ancient  style  of  royal  condescension, 
and  beginning  with  "  Tres  chere  et  bien  aime,"  had 
been  received  and  read  by  him  to  a  circle  of  his  family 
and  friends,  while  seated  around  the  dinner  table. 

But  the  smile,  called  forth  by  the  affectionate  greet- 
ing of  the  king,  was  soon  chased  away  by  the  appear- 
ance of  another  missive  of  a  very  different  character, 
containing  only  the  three  brief  sentences  alluded  to 
above.  The  sentences  referred  to  were — 

"  The  Chamber  of  Deputies  is  dissolved  ; 

"  The  Law  of  Elections  changed ; 

"  The  Liberty  of  the  Press  is  suspended." 

These  words,  read  by  General  Lafayette  with 
solemn  emphasis  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  composed 
of  his  own  family  and  numerous  visitors,  who  had 
av-ailed  themselves  of  the  hospitality  of  Lagrange  to 
escape  from  the  unusual  heat  of  the  city  to  the  refuge 
of  its  cooler  shades,  had  the  effect  of  a  pistol  shot 
on  the  eager  listeners.  Ladies  burst  into  tears  and 
lamentations,  predicting  that  such  arbitrary  measures 
would  lead  to  a  bloody  resistance, — men  knitted  their 
brows  and  consulted  apart  in  separate  groups,  or 
walked  on  the  lawn  in  earnest  conversation.  Before 
the  end  of  the  following  day  the  party  dispersed,  and 
their  venerable  host  was  on  his  way  to  the  metropolis, — 
whether  to  pour  oil  upon  the  waves  that  were  already 
dashing  with  merciless  fury  over  the  devoted  court 
and  ministry,  or  to  encourage  uncompromising  resist- 
ance to  the  measures  they  had  attempted  to  carry 


A  BRILLIANT  DESTINY.  373 

into  execution,  was  hardly  yet  determined  in  his  own 
breast. 

To  the  exercise  of  an  infatuated  temper,  without 
corresponding  force  of  will  and  character,  may  be 
attributed  the  unhappy  termination  of  the  reign  of 
Charles  X.  Since  that  epoch  it  has  been  seen  that 
far  more  arbitrary  measures  than  he  ever  attempted 
have  been  triumphantly  carried  out  with  hardly  a 
show  of  resistance ;  but  these  arbitrary*  measures 
have  been  cautiously  and  gradually  planned,  and  exe- 
cuted under  the  mighty  protection  of  half  a  million 
of  bayonets.  In  the  trois  journtes  the  bayonets  were 
either  sullenly  withdrawn,  or  turned  against  the  breast 
of  the  sovereign.  In  vain  did  the  Dauphin,  enraged 
against  the  Duke  de  Raguse,  the  commander  of  the 
army,  reproach  him  as  the  "  traitor  Marmont,"  and 
snatch  the  knightly  sword  from  him,  deeply  wounding 
his  own  hand,  as  he  seized  the  weapon  by  the  blade 
in  his  haste  to  deprive  the  duke  of  his  command.  In 
vain  the  alarmed  sovereign  proposed  terms  of  paci- 
fication to  the  insurgents,  and  abdicated  his  throne  in 
favor  of  his  youthful  grandson  Henry  Y.  The  fiat 
had  gone  forth ;  and  only  a  precipitate  flight  was  left 
for  the  king  and  his  family,  with  the  few  friends  who 
adhered  to  his  fallen  fortunes. 

The  events  of  the  revolution  of  the  three  days  in 
Paris  filled  so  large  a  space  in  the  public  mind  and 
the  public  journals  of  the  tune,  that  it  would  be  pre- 
sumptuous to  record  them  in  such  pages  as  these.  It 
would  be  a  superfluous,  as  well  as  a  hopeless,  task  to 
endeavor  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  frightful 
confusion  that  reigned  throughout  the  capital  in  that 


374  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

period  of  anarchy — of  the  sanguinary  conflicts  be- 
tween inhabitants  of  the  same  city, — brethren  of  the 
same  lovely,  but  distracted,  country. 

Even  to  those  withdrawn  from  the  sight  of  war- 
riors with  "  garments  rolled  in  blood,"  of  heaps  of 
shin  rc  nd  wounded,  among  which  women  and  helpless 
baber;,  accidentally  killed  by  the  maddened  combatants, 
werj  seen, — even  to  those  who  did  not  personally 
witness  these  horrors,  the  sounds  of  the  tocsin  and 
a)  arm-bells,  intermingled  with  the  booming  of  cannon, 
/,he  answering  peals  of  musketry,  and  the  cries  of  the 
infuriated  multitudes,  as  they  met  in  mortal  shock, 
were  enough  to  elicit  feelings  of  the  deepest  anxiety 
as  well  as  commiseration  for  the  victims  of  this  un- 
natural strife. 

Where  was  Victor  Delorme  during  this  period  of 
confusion,  of  anarchy,  of  bloody  conflict  ?  Lured  on 
by  the  ignis  fatuus  of  his  destiny,  still  cheated  by  the 
hope  that  some  brilliant  prize  awaited  him,  he  rushed 
madly  on.  Exhorting,  encouraging,  leading  on  his 
followers  to  every  attack,  foremost  among  the  most 
intrepid,  he  exposed  himself  to  every  danger,  and 
seemed  to  possess  a  charmed  life. 

But  at  the  head  of  the  last  storming  party,  in  the 
battle  that  carried  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  and 
gave  the  insurgents  their  final  triumph,  Victor  encoun- 
tered the  unyielding  resistance  of  desperation. 

Three  hundred  of  the  Swiss  guards  had  turned  to 
bay  within  the  palace,  faithful  to  the  sovereign  to 
whom  they  had  sworn  fidelity.  Superhuman  courage 
could  not  avail  to  save  these  unfortunate  men  from 
the  fearful  odds  brought  against  them,  and  they  fell, 


'A   BEILL1ANT  DESTINY.  375 

fighting  to  the  last  in  the  cause  which  they  had  es- 
poused as  their  own — 

But  not  unavenged.  Many  a  brave  youth,  trusting 
in  his  own  strong  arm,  and  in  the  encouraging  voice 
of  his  enthusiastic  commander,  met  his  death-blow 
from  the  stronger  and  more  practised  arm  of  a  Swiss 
guardsman.  Victor  himself,  as  he  and  his  compan- 
ions rushed  like  a  whirlwind  through  the  portals  of 
the  Tuileries,  received  a  thrust  from  a  bayonet  that 
pressed  him  backward  into  their  arms.  He  raised  his 
sword  on  high,  with  a  cry  of  "  victory ! " — but  the 
next  moment,  that  arm  fell  powerless  by  his  side. 

The  battle  was  won, — the  last  conflict  over,  and 
the  tri-colored  flag  floated  above  the  dome  of  the 
palace,  and  was  streaming  from  every  height.  The 
lilies  of  France,  soiled  and  blood-stained,  were  tram- 
pled beneath  the  feet  of  the  conquerors. 

Victor  was  borne  in  triumph  in  the  arms  of  his 
companions  into  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries.  There 
were  still  the  splendid  apartments,  rich  with  costly 
furniture  and  artistic  decorations,  where  kings  and 
princes  in  regal  pomp  had  so  lately  moved  in  careless 
ease  and  luxury.  There  stood  the  throne,  empty  and 
but  a  name, — the  sovereign  who  had  so  lately  filled 
it  surrounded  by  obsequious  courtiers,  now  an  exile 
and  a  wanderer,  "  with  none  so  poor  to  do  him  rever- 
ence." 

Victor,  still  borne  in  the  arms  of  his  companions 
and  followers,  was  brought  near  the  emblazoned  seat 
of  majesty. 

"  Place  him  on  the  throne  ! "  they  exclaimed.  "  It 
is  the  only  seat  worthy  of  one  so  noble  !  If  he  lives, 


376  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

we  will  sustain  him  ;  if  he  dies,  it  is  an  honor  that 
his  bravery  well  deserves  to  die  on  the  throne  of 
France ! " 

"  Not  there !  not  there ! "  exclaimed  Victor,  with 
a  shudder,  as  they  ascended  the  steps  of  the  throne. 
"  Oh,  do  not  mock  me  so  cruelly  in  this  last  hour  of 
my  existence ! " 

But  they  heeded  not  the  supplication,  and  intent 
on  their  own  wish  of  rendering  to  their  brave  leader 
what  they  deemed  the  highest  mark  of  their  admira- 
tion of  his  valor,  persisted  in  seating  him  on  the 
throne. 

His  eager  companions  supported  him  on  either 
side,  but  the  warm  life-blood  was  ebbing  fast  from 
the  deep  wound  in  his  breast.  For  a  moment  Victor 
raised  his  drooping  head,  and  unclosed  his  eyes — they 
were  heavy  and  glazed.  He  looked  around  him,  and  a 
strong  shudder  passed  over  his  frame. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  fulfilment  of  the  brilliant  des- 
tiny that  has  lured  me  on  to  a  bloody  death!"  he 
murmured.  "  Oh,  Beatrice ! " 

His  head  sunk  again.  "  Mother ! "  he  murmured. 
"  Forgive,"—"  oh  God ! " 

A  slight  convulsion  followed  the  last  half-articula- 
ted words,  and  the  spirit  had  passed  from  time  to 
eternity! 

Victor  Delorme  lies  buried  beneath  the  monument 
that  marks  the  spot  where  "  the  victims  "  of  the  revo- 
tion  were  interred.  The  stranger  who  pauses  to  medi- 
tate on  that  spot,  while  examining  the  richly  sculp- 
tured facade  of  the  Louvre  on  the  one  hand,  or  the 
ancient  church  of  St.  Germain  L'Auxerrois  on  the 


A  BRILLIANT  DESTINY.  377 

other,  naturally  recurs  to  the  period  when  the  courts 
of  the  former  echoed  in  low  murmurs  the  sanguinary 
order  for  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the 
bell  of  the  latter  pealed  forth  the  dire  signal  for  its 
execution.  His  thoughts  are  not  with  the  brief  career, 
and  briefer  termination  of  the  lives,  of  nameless  heroes, 
but  with  the  mighty  dead  whose  names,  either  for 
good  or  evil,  have  filled  the  pages  of  history. 

Victor  Delorme  was  buried  near  the  spot  where 
he  had  received  his  mortal  wound. 

There  was  one  fair  hand  to  hang  a  garland  of 
immortelles  over  his  early  grave.  Bright  eyes  rained 
pious  tears  to  the  memory  of  one  beautiful  and  gifted 
as  herself,  but  led  astray  by  the  restless  demon  of 
ambition, — lured  6n  by  false  theories  and  a  fancied 
destiny. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN     EXPLANATION. 

WHEN  Reginald  awoke  to  consciousness,  after  the 
long  insensibility  caused  by  the  wound  he  had  received 
from  the  hand  of  the  assassin, — having  thus  fulfilled 
almost  literally  his  promise  to  Constance  to  protect 
her  "  with  his  life  "  from  the  dangers  that  surrounded 
her, — he  found  himself  beneath  the  hospitable  roof  of 
Mr.  Melville,  and  watched  over  with  all  the  tender 
solicitude  that  his  generous  devotion  had  naturally 
awakened. 

But  the  revolutionary  tempest  that  was  raging 
with  such  pitiless  fury  up  to  the  very  portals  of  the 
hotel,  within  whose  walls  he  had  found  a  shelter  and 
a  home,  rendered  every  effort  unavailing  to  procure 
the  proper  surgical  assistance,  at  the  moment  it 
was  needed ;  and  when  this  difficulty  was  at  length 
removed,  it  was  impossible  to  arrest  the  fever  that 
succeeded  the  extraction  of  the  ball,  which  had  so 
nearly  been  a  messenger  of  death. 

For  many  days  life  fluttered  feebly  through  his 
veins,  and  his  wandering  senses  imperfectly,  and  at 
long  intervals,  recalled  the  event  that  had  reduced 


AN  EXPLANATION.  379 

him  to  his  present  alarming  condition.  Youth  and  a 
strong  constitution  at  length  triumphed;  and  the 
crisis  was  announced  by  a  sleep  so  profound  that,  as 
his  bloodless  cheek  lay  on  the  pillow  and  his  hand  on 
the  couch,  hardly  distinguishable  from  the  white  linen 
on  which  they  rested,  Mrs.  Melville,  who  had  been 
watching  for  this  favorable  indication  of  returning 
health,  listened  anxiously  for  his  breathing  to  assure 
herself  that  he  was  still  indeed  a  living  being.  That 
breath  came  slowly  and  softly,  but  he  did  breathe, 
and  she  resumed  her  quiet  station  by  his  side,  after 
noiselessly  gliding  from  the  room  for  a  moment  to 
request  that  the  utmost  stillness  should  be  maintained 
in  the  house,  to  prevent  the  dangers  that  might  arise 
from  suddenly  awakening  the  patient. 

For  many  hours,  Reginald  remained  in  this  calm 
and  deathlike  repose,  his  heavy  eyelids  only  half  veil- 
ing his  eyes.  The  door  was  left  open  to  admit  a 
fresher  current  of  air ;  and  at  that  door,  though  care- 
fully screened  from  view,  and  in  profound  silence,  sat 
another  anxious  listener. 

A  sigh  from  the  sleeper  deepened  the  solicitude 
of  the  fair  sentinel,  and  forgetting  her  precaution  for 
an  instant,  she  stood  at  the  open  door.  What  vision, 
passing  through  his  dreamy  thoughts,  awakened  the 
smile  of  quiet  happiness  which  flitted  over  his  pale 
features  at  that  moment  ?  A  seraph  seemed  watching 
over  him,  and  the  angel  form,  though  of  earth,  was 
mingled  in  that  dream  with  thoughts  and  hopes  of 
heaven. 

Can  any  joy  equal  that  with  which  the  loved  one, 
who  had  entered  apparently  into  the  dark  valley  of 


380  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

the  shadow  of  death,  and  has  been  rescued  by  the 
arm  of  the  All-powerful,  is  welcomed  back  to  the 
hearts,  that  throbbed  in  breathless  suspense  until  his 
return  to  life  is  assured  ?  There  is  something  so  holy, 
so  calm,  and  yet  so  rapturous  in  such  happiness,  that 
it  may  well  be  deemed  a  foretaste  of  the  blessedness 
to  come. 

How  speedily  is  the  past  forgotten,  with  all  its 
attendant  anguish  of  mind  and  body,  when  the  invalid, 
dearer  than  ever  for  the  dangers  he  has  passed, — 
caressed  and  petted,  first  considered  in  every  arrange- 
ment, the  first  one  thought  of  in  the  morning — the 
last  at  night, — his  name  on  every  lip  and  in  every 
prayer, — when,  after  all  this,  he  comes  forth,  pale  and 
feeble,  but  wiser  and  better,  stronger  in  faith  and 
hope,  and  basking  in  the  warm  smiles  that  welcome 
his  return  to  the  friendly  circle ! 

Reginald's  convalescence,  after  the  dangerous  crisis 
had  passed  happily  by,  was  sure,  but  slow.  Several 
weeks  had  elapsed  before  he  was  allowed  to  try  his 
strength  so  far  as  to  leave  his  room,  but  at  the  end 
of  that  time,  he  protested  so  earnestly  against  farther 
imprisonment,  that  a  compromise  with  his  careful 
though  indulgent  guardians  was  effected,  and  he  was 
pronounced  free,  with  the  condition  that  he  should 
not  attempt  to  Jeave  the  house  before  another  week 
should  ensure  his  strength. 

A  comparative  calm  had  succeeded  the  revolution 
of  the  three  days ;  and  only  an  angry  murmur  of  the 
subsiding  thunder  was  occasionally  and  at  long  inter- 
vals heard,  but  at  a  distance  too  great  to  excite  farther 
apprehension  of  a  return  of  the  storm.  The  city, 


AN  EXPLANATION.  381 

though  quiet,  wore  a  melancholy  and  deserted  aspect, 
and  the  mountains,  or  the  seacoast,  would  have  been 
far  more  desirable  at  that  season.  But  the  condition 
of  the  entire  continent  was  as  yet  too  unsettled  to 
admit  the  thought  of  any  change  of  residence,  until 
governments  and  nations  were  established  on  a  firmer 
foundation. 

Reginald  received  every  assurance,  in  answer  to 
his  anxious  inquiries  on  the  subject,  that  his  involun- 
tary sojourn  with  Mr.  Melville's  family  interposed  no 
obstacle  to  the  intention  they  had  formed  of  passing 
the  remainder  of  the  summer  in  Switzerland,  as  the 
unexpected  event  of  the  revolution  had  settled  that 
question ;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  bore  his 
protracted  captivity  with  exemplary  philosophy. 

And  was  Reginald  happy,  perfectly  happy?  It 
may  naturally  be  supposed  that  his  enjoyment  was 
now  unalloyed,  and  that  his  position  was  the  very  one 
he  would  have  chosen  above  all  others  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  those  hopes  that  were  interwoven  with  his 
very  existence.  To  be  watched  over  with  tender 
solicitude,  day  after  day,  by  her  to  whom  his  heart 
was  given, — to  see  her  like  a  ministering  angel  antici- 
pating every  wish,  exercising  every  faculty  of  her 
mind  to  make  him  forget  that  he  was  a  prisoner ; — 
reading  his  favorite  books,  singing  his  favorite  songs  ; 
soothing  him  when  sad,  laughing  with  him  when 
merry, — Ah  Reginald  !  such  a  position,  if  any  uncer- 
tainty rested  on  its  results,  was  a  dangerous  one, 
indeed ! 

Was  he  then  happy?  The  answer  will  seem 
strange, — he  was  not.  What  mortal  is  ever  con- 


382  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

tented,  even  when  fortune  smiles  brightest,  and  is 
apparently  lavishing  her  treasures  with  an  unsparing 
hand?  One  thought  that  passed  through  his  mind 
constantly  interrupted  the  sweet  dream,  in  which  he 
indulged  so  fondly.  He  was  still  in  doubt  with 
regard  to  the  sentiments  Constance  entertained  for 
him ;  and  the  idea  that  she  might  suspect  him  of  claim- 
ing her  affections  and  her  hand,  as  the  reward  of  the 
sacrifice  he  had  made  for  her,  tinged  his  pale  cheek 
with  a  blush  of  ingenuous  shame.  He  longed  for  an 
explanation,  and  at  the  same  time  dreaded  it,  fearing 
that  one  word  might  dispel  the  beautiful  air  castle  he 
had  raised  with  so  much  care  and  hope. 

Reginald's  last  week  of  imprisonment  was  nearly 
over,  and  had  flown  by  so  lightly  on  its  downy  pinions 
that  he  would  not  have  marked  the  hours  but  for  the 
recurrence  of  the  thought  that  pained  his  generous 
heart.  As  the  period  of  his  stay  as  an  inmate  in  Mr. 
Melville's  family  drew  to  a  close,  he  became  more 
restless  and  uncertain,  unwilling,  as  he  was,  to  ex- 
change the  dawn  of  hope  for — it  might  be,  the  dark 
gloom  of  despair. 

Beatrice  came  daily  to  inquire  after  the  health  of 
her  "  friend's  friend,"  in  which  she  naturally  felt  the 
kindest  and  deepest  interest,  and  busied  herself  with 
amiable  alacrity  in  contributing  to  his  convalescence 
by  alternate  readings  with  Constance,  by  her  music, 
and  in  the  completion  of  the  portrait,  a  fruitful  source 
of  interest  and  amusement  to  the  trio.  She  took  par- 
ticular pleasure  in  making  her  visits  at  moments  when 
Mrs.  Melville  was  engaged  in  some  duty,  and  then, 
finding  the  parlor  in  which  they  always  met,  and 


AN   EXPLANATION.  383 

which  had  hitherto  served  perfectly  well  for  the  pur- 
pose, too  dark  for  a  studio,  or  that  she  had  left  some 
favorite  brush  or  color  behind,  she  would  glide  away, 
leaving  Constance  and  Reginald  alone, — always  seek- 
ing afterwards  an  early  opportunity  of  questioning 
her  blushing  friend  as  to  the  result  of  the  conference, 
when  they  met  the  next  morning. 

But  Constance  had  no  "result"  to  record,  for 
Reginald's  lips  were  sealed  by  the  fear  of  hearing  the 
tame  word  "  gratitude  "  from  those  of  Constance,  in 
reply  to  the  fervent  declaration  of  the  passion  that 
filled  his  heart. 

"  I  am  afraid  your  charming  friend,  the  Signorina 
Visconti,  finds  me  both  stupid  and  ungrateful,"  said 
Reginald  one  morning,  when  Beatrice,  after  her  usual 
visit,  had  found  some  plausible  pretext  for  leaving  the 
two  alone.  "  I  am  compelled  to  confess  that  I  have 
treasured  up  hardly  a  line,  or  even  a  sentiment,  of  the 
beautiful  poetry  she  read  just  now  in  a  voice  of  such 
musical  pathos." 

"  I  shall  not  find  it  difficult  to  defend  you  from 
both  charges,"  said  Constance  smiling.  "  You  are 
hardly  yet  strong  enough  to  listen  to  any  thing  with 
undivided  attention,  and  the  idea  of  believing  you 
4  ungrateful '  would,  I  feel  quite  sure,  never  enter  her 
mind.  Beatrice  and  her  friend  have  both  too  much 
cause  for  gratitude  to  you,  to  allow  us  to  perceive 
any  want  of  it  on  your  part." 

"  Gratitude  !  "  repeated  Reginald  impatiently — 
"  the  word  of  all  others  that  I  dreaded  to  hear  from 
your  lips.  I  would  rather  even  hear  that  of  esteem, 
ominous  as  it  too  often  is." 


384  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  Gratitude  and  esteem  ?  "  said  Constance  interro- 
gatively, while  a  bright  blush  suffused  her  cheek,  and 
the  fairy  dimples  played  round  her  lip,  "  what  possi- 
ble harm  can  lurk  in  such  beautiful  words  ?  Words 
which  I  cherish  especially  for  your  sake, — words  which 
always  remind  me  how  deeply  I  am  "  — 

"  Do  not  finish  the  sentence,  I  entreat  you,"  inter- 
posed Reginald.  "  I  would  not  have  you  to  be  grate- 
ful to  me." 

"  You  would  not  have  me  grateful  to  you  ?  "  said 
Constance,  the  bright  blush  suffusing  her  cheek  yet 
more  deeply,  while  her  eyes  fell  beneath  the  earnest 
expression  of  those,  which  were  looking  into  them 
with  such  a  world  of  tenderness  and  devotion. 

"  No,"  replied  Reginald,  "  I  would  not  have  you 
think  for  an  instant  that  I  claim  any  feelings  but 
those  your  heart  will  give  me,  freely  and  untrammelled 
by  any  sense  of  obligation.  Tell  me,"  he  continued 
in  a  tone  of  passionate  fervor,  "  oh  Constance !  tell 
me  if  I  had  any  place  in  that  heart,  before  this  grati- 
tude was  awakened  in  it  ?  " 

In  his  earnestness  he  had  taken  her  little  hand  in 
both  of  his,  and  his  eyes  beseechingly  sought  an  an- 
swering glance  from  beneath  the  long  lashes  that 
rested  on  her  blush  ing  cheek.  She  was  silent,  and 
tears  trembled  on  those  lashes.  But  when  her  eyes 
met  his,  the  question  was  answered.  Words  could  not 
then  have  added  one  drop  to  the  overflowing  cup  of 
Reginald's  happiness. 

"  If  I  must  not  be  grateful,"  said  Constance,  re- 
suming her  arch  expression  and  playful  manner, 


AN  EXPLANATION.  385 

though  she  made  no   effort  to  withdraw  her  hand 
from  his,  "  What  can  I  say  ?  " 

"  May  I  dictate,  then  ?  "  said  Reginald. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  follow  my  dictation  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated. 

"  Say  then  that  you  love  me ! "  said  Reginald, 
lowering  his  voice. 

"  Say  then  that  you  love  me  !  "  echoed  Constance. 
"  I  have  fulfilled  the  compact.  Those  are  your  own 
words,  and  your  own  dictation.  Now  I  am  sure  you 
ought  to  be  very,  very  happy,  and  very — grateful." 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  said  Reginald.  "  I  was  mistaken  in 
the  words  I  intended  you  to  repeat.  Let  me  dictate 
once  more.  I  love  you !  " — 

"  Ah,  that  is  more  than  I  promised ! "  said  Constance 
laughing.  "  You  must  be  satisfied  with  my  first  com- 
pliance. Trust  me,  you  shall  always  have  my  esteem." 

He  smiled,  and  what  a  bright  happy  smile  it  was, 
as  he  kissed  again  and  again  the  imprisoned  hand,  un- 
checked— unreproved.  The  formidable  word  had  lost 
its  chilling  power. 

"And  my  gratitude,"  she  continued,  "I  shall  al- 
ways be  most  grate  —  " 

But  the  word  was  only  half  spoken.  How  it  came 
to  be  interrupted  is  a  matter  which  does  not  in  any 
way  concern  the  readers  or  the  writer  of  these  pages. 
The  latter  must  be  content  to  say,  and  the  former  to 
learn,  that  all  doubts  were  from  that  hour  removed 
from  the  anxious  mind  of  the  young  lover,  and  that 
his  health  and  happiness  were  speedily,  and  together, 
restored  and  confirmed. 
17 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    NUN. 

TIME  passed  on.  The  gouvernement  provisoire 
became  first  sickly  and  attenuated,  then  a  mere  walk- 
ing skeleton,  and  ended  one  day,  as  such  feeble  bodies 
are  wont  to  do,  by  giving  up  the  ghost  altogether, 
without  even  a  struggle. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  succeeded  as  naturally  and 
quietly  to  the  throne  of  France  as  if  the  "  Right 
divine  "  had  put  him  in  possession  of  it,  and  as  if  no 
scion  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  House  of  Bourbon 
still  laid  claim  to  the  regal  heritage  and  the  loyalty 
of  the  grande  nation. 

The  champion  of  Republican  Liberty,  and  the 
supple  adherent  of  eight  different  governments,  gave 
their  sanction  at  the  same  moment  to  the  new  regime. 
Lafayette  and  Talleyrand,  though  separated  by  the 
nominal  but  now  almost  invisible  lines  of  the  droit  et 
gauche^  together  offered  their  allegiance. 

"  Quefaire?"  said  the  former,  as  the  friends  of  a 
republic  murmured  at  the  speedy  demolition  of  their 
Utopian  schemes,  on  which  were  built  so  many  bright 
hopes  of  individual  fortunes  and  honors.  "  Que 


THE  BEAUTIFUL   NUN.  387 

voulez  vous  f  We  have  every  attainable  guarantee 
of  freedom  and  good  government  in  a  popular  throne 
surrounded  by  republican  institutions.  Is  not  this  a 
most  happy  compromise  of  the  difficulties  of  our  posi- 
tion ?  » 

"  Un  trone  populaire,  entoure  des  Institutions  Re- 
piiblicaines  !  "  repeated  the  caustic  and  witty  Talley- 
rand, aside  to  one  of  the  courtiers  of  the  new  king, 
with  his  usual  piquancy  and  pointed  satire.  "  C'est 
un  jambon  entoure,  de  persil.  Ilfaut  prendre  le  jam- 
bon,  et  mettre  le  persil  de  cote." 

With  this  strange  cement  were  parties  united, 
droit  et  gauche,  concurring  in  the  opinion  that  a  regal 
government  was  the  only  one  that  could  maintain  any 
stability  in  France. 

The  new  sovereign,  with  the  emblems  of  royalty 
before  him,  took  the  solemn  and  impressive  oath  that 
inducted  him  into  his  perilous  state ;  and  the  multi- 
tudes assembled  on  the  outside  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  where  the  ceremony  took  place,  surrounded 
the  royal  cortege,  as  it  slowly  traversed  the  quays  and 
streets  leading  to  the  now  kingly  Palais  Royal,  with 
tumultuous  and  deafening  cries  of  "  Vive  le  Roi ! 
Vive  la  Reine  !  Vive  la  famille  Royale  ! " 

Paris  gives  the  ton  to  fashions  and  to  revolutions. 
Many  months  had  not  elapsed  after  the  occurrence 
of  the  events  thus  briefly  recorded,  when  the  capital 
was  filled  with  illustrious  fugitives  from  the  vengeance 
that  had  overtaken  the  capricious  use,  or  abuse,  of 
despotic  power.  The  convulsion,  which  had  shaken 
the  nations  of  Europe  to  their  foundation,  extended 
to  distant  continents.  The  ex-dey  of  Algiers,  whose 


388  HOME   AND  THE  WOELD. 

dominions  had  just  been  converted  by  the  thunders 
of  French  artillery  on  the  African  coast  into  a  pro- 
vince of  France,  and  the  ex-emperor  of  Brazil,  Don 
Pedro,  might  be  seen  amicably  seated  near  each  other 
at  the  opera  or  in  the  palaces.  But  notwithstanding 
these  and  similar  changes  and  chances,  society  and 
the  gayeties  of  the  city  began  to  resume  their  reign, 
and  the  events  of  the  trois  journ&s  seemed  in  a  few 
months  almost  forgotten. 

Forgotten,  too,  were  the  troubles  and  trials  inci- 
dent to  and  mingled  with  the  events  of  those  days. 
Reginald,  restored  to  brilliant  health  and  happiness, 
looked  back  with  complacency  rather  than  regret  at 
the  hours  and  days  and  weeks  of  his  illness,  and 
forward  to  the  future  with  unalloyed  hope  and 

joy. 

He  was  one  day  passing  the  streets  that  led  from 
the  hotel  in  which  he  had  taken  his  rooms,  to  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain,  in  which  distinguished  quarter 
the  reader  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  he  had 
received  permission  to  pay  daily  visits  of  some  length. 
Those  visits  had  received  the  sanction  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Melville,  to  whom  a  nearer  view  of  his  amiable  de- 
portment and  noble  character  had  given  entire  confi- 
dence in  promising  the  hand  of  their  lovely  daughter 
to  one  they  deemed  so  worthy  of  such  a  precious 
treasure. 

As  Reginald  drew  near  the  house,  the  door  of  a 
porte  cocker 'e  just  before  him  suddenly  opened,  and 
a  person  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  sister  of  charity 
passed  over  the  threshold.  The  heavy  bronze  door 
shut  with  a  clang  behind  her,  and  for  a  moment  she 


THE  BEAUTIFUL   NUN.  389 

looked  back  as  if  uncertain  whether  to  trust  herself 
in  the  street. 

Her  eyes  at  that  moment  encountered  the  eyes  of 
Reginald,  which  were  turned  upon  her  with  interest 
and  curiosity.  There  was  something  in  the  aspect  of 
the  soeur  de  charite  that  awakened  both.  Her  features 
were  noble  and  beautiful,  though  they  were  very  pale, 
and  her  dark  eyes  and  wan  cheeks  bore  evident  traces 
of  recent  sorrow.  Whatever  grace  her  form  might 
have  possessed  was  shrouded  beneath  the  shapeless 
black  robe  and  white  coiffe  of  the  nun.  The  large 
black  rosary  at  her  side,  and  the  basket  on  her  arm, 
announced  the  devotee  to  a  life  of  penitence  amid 
scenes  of  suffering. 

As  those  dark  eyes  met  his,  a  crowd  of  recollec- 
tions rushed  on  Reginald's  mind.  They  lighted  up 
with  an  expression  almost  of  beatitude,  while  she 
clasped  her  hands  wildly  and  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  joy. 

Reginald  felt  that  he  could  not  be  mistaken.  Be- 
neath this  strange  disguise  he  recognized  the  Moorish 
maiden,  Zulema. 

She  rang  a  hasty  summons  at  the  portal  from 
which  she  had  just  stepped  forth,  and  it  was  instantly 
opened.  Reginald  hesitated  not  for  a  moment  to 
obey  the  silent  signal  she  made  him  to  follow  her,  and 
he  entered  the  court.  She  led  the  way  to  a  large  and 
handsome  apartment,  where  an  elderly  person,  dressed 
in  a  garb  similar  to  her  own,  was  seated.  The  elder 
nun  started  as  the  novice  appeared,  followed  by  a 
handsome  young  man,  and  her  heavy  brows  con- 
tracted over  the  severe  eyes  beneath  them. 


390  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

"  Do  not  be  offended,  sister,  that  I  have  so  hastily 
brought  this  young  man  into  your  presence,"  Zulema 
said  in  a  low  and  timid  voice.  "  He  alone  can  avert 
the  calamity  that  I  most  dread.  Surely  heaven  has 
sent  him  in  this  terrible  moment.  You  know  not," 
she  said,  turning  to  Reginald,  "  how  anxiously  I  have 
sought  for  you.  Oh,  how  many  fevered  days  and 
sleepless  nights  have  I  passed  since  that  anxious 
search  began ! " 

"You  cannot  rejoice  more  sincerely  than  I  do 
that  your  wish  is  at  last  accomplished,"  said  Reginald, 
"  as  your  earnest  manner  shows  me  that  I  may  per- 
haps have  it  in  my  power  to  prove  the  gratitude  and 
devotion  with  which  your  noble  conduct  inspired  me, 
when  I  was  a  captive  in  your  hands  and  at  your 
mercy." 

"  Alas  ! "  returned  the  Moorish  maiden,  shudder- 
ing at  the  recollection  of  the  events  that  had  trans- 
pired immediately  after  those  to  which  he  had  alluded, 
"your  prophetic  warning  has  often  since  that  time 
been  remembered.  Serpents  lurked  beneath  those 
bright  flowers, — the  fairy  palace  was,  as  you  foretold, 
converted  into  a  dreary  prison-house, — and  he  who 
had  created  that  oasis  hi  the  desert  for  me,  his  loved 
sister,  his  Zulema — he  is  a  prisoner,  and  condemned 
to  die  the  ignominious  death  of  a  malefactor  ! " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sobbed 
convulsively  as  she  uttered  the  last  words. 

"And  cannot  this  calamity  be  averted?"  said 
Reginald,  whose  feelings  were  deeply  interested  in 
the  distress  of  one  so  lovely,  and  to  whom  he  felt 


THE  BEAUTIFUL   NUN.  391 

bound,  as  he  had  just  expressed  to  herself,  by  the 
strongest  ties  of  gratitude  and  respect. 

"  There  is  one  hope  left,"  said  the  maiden,  "  one 
alone,  and  that  rests  on  yourself.  Yes  !  that  life  on 
which  my  own  hangs,  for  I  could  not  survive  him, 
may  perhaps  be  saved  by  you !  " 

"  You  will  not  wrong  me  by  doubting  my  will,  if 
I  indeed  possess  such  a  power,"  said  Reginald ;  "  but 
may  I  not  ask  an  explanation  of  words  that  seem  to 
me  so  enigmatical  ?  " 

"  Willingly,  most  willingly,"  she  replied  eagerly. 
"  It  is  for  this  that  I  have  sought  you  so  anxiously.  The 
persons  who  were  taken  prisoners  at  the  same  time 
that  you  were,  enraged  at  their  detention,  have  made 
false  representations  to  the  authorities  here.  These 
persons  were  soon  liberated,  and  their  property  re- 
stored to  them,  as  they  admit.  My  poor  brother 
merited  not  the  opprobrious  title  of  pirate.  That  of  a 
privateer,  which  he  claimed,  has  not  so  dire  a  sig- 
nification, though  justice  and  honor  could  sanction 
neither." 

She  paused,  and  cast  down  her  eyes,  as  a  blush  of 
shame  for  a  moment  mantled  her  wan  cheek,  and 
then  subsided,  leaving  it  paler  than  before. 

"  The  accusations  they  bring  against  him,  so  far  as 
they  concern  themselves,"  she  continued,  "  if  substan- 
tiated, may  consign  him  to  imprisonment,  for  what 
length  of  time  I  know  not,  but  they  do  not  involve 
a  terrible  death.  These  false  witnesses  allege  that 
one  of  the  prisoners,  and  that  one,  from  their  account 
and  description,  is  yourself,  was  foully  murdered,  after 
being  separated  from  them  and  forced  into  a  solitary 


392  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

prison.  On  this  ground  they  seek  to  avenge  their 
own  wrongs,  and  his  life  is  now  in  the  utmost  peril. 
Give  your  testimony  in  his  favor,  and  he  is  saved  !  " 

"  It  is  but  a  simple  act  of  justice  to  give  that  tes- 
timony," said  Reginald,  "and  I  trust  you  do  not 
doubt  for  a  moment  that  I  will  aid  his  cause  to  the 
best  of  my  ability.  I  am  only  too  happy  to  grant 
such  a  request.  Put  me  in  possession  of  all  that 
relates  to  the  accusation,  and  rely  upon  my  zeal  for 
the  rest. 

"  And  now,  will  it  be  presuming  too  far,  fair  Zu- 
lema,  if  I  inquire  why  it  is  that  I  see  you  in  this 
strange  disguise  ?  "  continued  Reginald,  as  he  glanced 
at  her  heavy  black  dress,  contrasting  so  painfully  with 
his  recollection  of  the  snow-white  robe  he  had  seen 
fluttering  in  the  bright  moonlight,  beneath  the  shades 
of  citron  and  orange  where  he  had  first  beheld  her. 

"  It  is  no  disguise,"  said  the  maiden  with  a  sigh, 
while  her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears.  "  A  life  of 
penitence  well  befits  one  who  would  give  more  than 
that  life,  if  it  could  atone  for  the  errors  of  him  she 
loves  far  more  than  herself." 

"  You  cannot  then  trust  to  that  atonement  which 
has  been  made  for  sins  of  crimson  dye  ?  "  said  Regi- 
nald. "  A  life  of  suffering  and  privation  is  not  needed 
from  you,  Zulema ; — there  is  ONE  on  whom  you  may 
cast  all  your  care." 

"  My  resolve  is  made,"  she  replied  hastily,  and 
pressing  the  cross  of  the  rosary  to  her  lips,  while  she 
traced  the  symbol  in  imaginary  lines  on  her  breast,  as 
if  to  exorcise  some  forbidden  thought  within  it,  "  I 
have  not  been  taught  thus  by  Father  Anselmo.  Do 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  NUN.  393 

not  seek  to  unsettle  the  convictions  with  which  my 
newly  inspired  faith  is  interwoven." 

"  I  do  not  seek  to  make  a  proselyte,"  returned 
Reginald ;  "  I  speak  only  the  words  of  truth  and  sober- 
ness, and  would  have  you  reflect  on  the  consequences 
of  a  step  you  may  hereafter  regret." 

"  Sister  Agnes,"  interposed  the  dark-browed  elder 
nun,  who  had  comprehended  the  word  "  proselyte," — 
the  only  one  of  their  conversation  that  had  intelligibly 
reached  her  ear,  as  it  had  been  conducted  in  the  Span- 
ish tongue, — "  Sister  Agnes,  tune  presses.  The  young 
stranger,  if  he  is  the  one  of  whom  you  spoke  to  me, 
may  be  better  employed  in  giving  his  testimony  than 
in  lingering  here." 

"  True,  ah,  too  true  ! "  said  the  maiden.  "  Fare- 
well ! — I  need  not  direct  you  farther  than  to  place 
these  papers  in  your  hands.  Your  own  wisdom  and 
judgment  will  guide  you  better  in  this  fearful  cause 
than  I  could." 

She  turned  once  more  to  look  toward  him,  as  the 
nun  took  her  arm  and  silently  led  her  away.  There 
was  a  strange  mixture  of  enthusiasm,  doubt,  and — was 
it  some  gentler  feeling  expressed  in  those  dark,  sad, 
lustrous  eyes  ?  The  door  closed,  and  Reginald  read 
them  no  farther. 


17* 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    MEETING. 

"  WHO  is  it  ?  who  is  it  ?  "  exclaimed  little  Alice, 
as  Constance  felt  a  pair  of  hands  gently,  but  suddenly, 
passed  over  her  eyes.  "  Now  guess  whose  hands 
those  are!"  continued  Alice,  dancing  around  her 
sister  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

Constance  had  been  reading  a  new  and  entertain- 
ing book,  which  completely  absorbed  her  thoughts. 
The  evening  came  on  unperceived,  except  from  the 
influence  of  the  approaching  twilight.  She  had  risen 
from  her  chair,  and  stood  near  a  window  to  catch  the 
last  rays  of  the  declining  day,  with  her  face  averted 
from  the  door  through  which  the  person  who  had 
thus  surprised  her,  had  entered. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  repeated  Alice  with  childish  eager- 
ness and  glee. 

"  Reginald,"  said  Constance  in  a  low  voice,  and 
with  some  hesitation,  for  this  freedom,  slight  as  it 
was,  did  not  exactly  accord  with  his  usually  deferen- 
tial manner  towards  her.  Yet  the  hands  were  those 
of  a  man,  and  who  else  could  it  be  ? 

"  Reginald  indeed  !  "    said   a  well-known  voice 


THE   MEETING.  395 

above  her  head,  while  a  clear,  ringing,  merry  laugh 
followed  the  words,  "  and  that  is  Reginald  too,  I  sup- 
pose !  "  added  Vivian,  as  Constance  felt  two  soft  arms 
twined  round  her  waist,  and  two  velvet  lips  pressed 
to  hers. 

The  hands  were  withdrawn  from  her  eyes,  and 
Vivian  and  Evelyn  stood  before  her. 

"  Why,  what  an  ingenious  plan  I  fell  upon  for 
finding  out  all  the  family  secrets  !  "  exclaimed  Vivian, 
while  Constance  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
alternately  embraced  her  brother  and  her  lovely  sister 
with  tears  of  joy.  "  I  could  not  have  learned  more 
in  a  year  than  that  one  simple  word  has  revealed  to 
me.  Allow  me,"  he  continued  with  a  bow  of  mock 
gravity,  "  to  felicitate  you,  mademoiselle,  on  the  pros- 
pect of  speedily  renouncing  that  insignificant  title." 

"  Ah,  Constance  !  "  said  Evelyn,  "  do  you  remem- 
ber our  discussions  at  Avonmore  ?  You  are  now,  I 
am  happy  to  perceive,  convinced  that  Reginald  is 
not  a  myth,  as  you  once  affirmed,  and  pretenc^d  to 
believe." 

"  But  /am  not  yet  convinced  that  he  is  not  a  myth- 
ical personage,"  said  Vivian,  "  for  though  I  had  just 
now  rather  a  startling  proof  that  Constance  believes 
he  lives  and  breathes,  you  must  remember  that  I  have 
never  yet  seen  him." 

"  Then  permit  him  to  offer  some  practical  demon- 
stration on  that  long  disputed  point,"  said  Reginald, 
who  at  that  moment  entered  the  room,  and  had  caught 
the  last  words.  "  A  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,"  he 
continued,  as  he  affectionately  took  the  hands  of 
Vivian  and  Evelyn,  who  as  warmly  reciprocated  his 


396  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

kindly  greeting,  "  will  suffice  at  once  to  dispel  all  such 
mysterious  suspicions." 

"  But  how  marvellously  well  you  look ! "  exclaimed 
Evelyn.  "  I  anticipated  the  appearance  of  little  less 
than  a  ghost,  if  not  a  myth,  after  the  terrible  accounts 
that  reached  us  of  your  adventure  during  the  revolu- 
tion of  the  troisjourn&es.  I  am  astonished  to  see  you 
even  more  than  yourself.  I  fancied  that  we  should 
find  you  reclining  in  an  arm-chair,  pale  and  languid, 
with  a  lady,  who  shall  be  nameless,  seated  at  your  side, 
reading  some  interesting  romance,  or  perhaps  soothing 
you  with  her  bird-like  voice  in  song." 

"  You  draw  a  charming  picture,"  replied  Reginald 
laughing,  "  though  it  is  one  that  to  a  certain  extent  has 
been  already  realized.  It  has  been  often  said  that  our 
misfortunes  sometimes  prove  our  greatest  blessings  in 
disguise." 

He  glanced  toward  Constance,  who,  blushing  and 
embarrassed  at  the  complete  revelation  to  her  brother 
of  the  good  understanding  between  herself  and  Regi- 
nald, by  the  simple  circumstance  attending  their  first 
meeting,  had  taken  refuge  behind  Evelyn,  with  her 
arm  around  her  sister's  waist,  and  her  hand  still  fondly 
clasped  in  hers. 

"  Nay,  little  Alice  must  be  responsible  for  all  the 
mischief  in  which  I  have  been  engaged  ever  since  we 
arrived,"  said  Vivian,  as  he  took  the  happy  child  in 
his  arms,  and  seated  her  on  his  knee.  "  While  Eve- 
lyn and  I  were  engaged  in  exchanging  greetings  and 
welcomes  with  my  father  and  mother,  she  devised 
this  very  original  surprise  for  our  dear  little  sister." 

"  A  propos  of  surprises  and  disguises,"  said  Evelyn, 


THE   MEETING.  397 

addressing  herself  to  Reginald,  "we  heard  some 
singular  reports  during  our  recent  sojourn  in  Flo- 
rence, concerning  a  lady  particularly  conversant  in 
these  arts.  I  think  this  lady  must  have  been  a  special 
friend  of  yours,"  added  Evelyn  laughing,  while  it  was 
now  Reginald's  turn  to  blush ;  and  he  did  blush  most 
undeniably. 

His  manifest  confusion  only  increased  the  merri- 
ment of  Evelyn. 

"  Ah,  now  I  am  sure  the  gossiping  world  was  not 
far  wrong  in  the  suspicions  entertained  about  you  and 
this  accomplished  young  lady.  You  have  just  come 
in  time  to  hear  the  prettiest  little  romance  imagin- 
able," she  continued,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Melville  at  that 
moment  joined  the  gay  party ;  and  they  all  rose  to 
ofler  the  most  comfortable  corners  to  the  seniors  of 
the  family  group. 

"  The  gossiping  circle  we  met  with  at  Florence," 
pursued  Evelyn,  "  told  a  strange  tale  of  a  fair  young 
damsel,  though  she  was  old  enough  to  have  more 
discretion  than  she  manifested,  as  she  could  not  be 
less  than  twenty-four.  She  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
to  captivate  a  young  gentleman  of  about  her  own  age, 
but  apparently  far  more  discreet  than  herself.  Pos- 
sessing boundless  wealth,  much  cleverness,  and  bril- 
liant accomplishments,  she  thought  it  only  necessary 
to  give  the  youth  a  hint  of  the  fancy  she  had  taken 
for  him.  To  her  surprise,  he  remained  profoundly  in- 
sensible to  her  charms.  He  left  this  city  and  went 
to  Florence,  leaving  the  damsel  in  suspense,  if  not  in 
despair.  But  recovering  from  the  first  shock  of  his 
flight  she  speedily  found  some  pretext  for  paying  a 


398  HOME   AND   THE  WOULD. 

visit  to  the  fair  city  of  flowers,  where  the  young  gen- 
tleman had  preceded  her.  The  false  friend,  who  ac- 
companied her  on  this  singular  errand,  wearied  out 
with  the  insufferable  caprices  and  tyranny  of  Miss 
Almeria  Belmont,  betrayed  her " 

"  Pardon  me,"  interposed  Reginald  earnestly,  and 
forgetting  the  suspicions  attached  to  himself,  as  the 
hero  of  Evelyn's  romance,  in  his  eagerness  to  do  jus- 
tice wherever  he  perceived  the  existence  of  what  he 
considered  a  wrong.  "  This  description  hardly  does 
justice  to  Miss  Belmont.  She  has  some  good  quali- 
ties, though  they  are  often  concealed  beneath  those 
of  vanity  and  selfishness  which  she  has  been  taught 
to  look  upon  as  virtues."' 

Evelyn  had  permitted  him  to  enter  on  his  -defence 
of  Almeria  without  interruption,  and  then  replied 
very  demurely,  "I  am  sure  we  shall  be  all  much 
edified  by  the  explanation  you  can,  doubtless,  so  kindly 
and  satisfactorily  make  of  the  conduct  of  a  young  lady 
who,  if  the  gossips  speak  truth,  is  somewhat  in  want 
of  a  champion.  But  I  am  happy  to  conclude  my  ro- 
mance by  informing  you  that  she  has  found  one.  By 
way  of  contradiction  to  the  rumors  which  met  her 
every  where,  or  in  a  sudden  fit  of  caprice  or  pique, 
Miss  Belmont  bestowed  her  hand  on  a  German  banker, 
the  Baron  Von  Griffe,  who  has  recently  acquired  his 
title  by  his  wealth.  He  is  said  to  have  twice  as  many 
millions  as  her  father,  and  is  several  years  older  than 
that  worthy  personage. 

"Almeria  Belmont  is  then  married?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Melville. 

"  Actually  married,"  said  Evelyn. 


THE   MEETING.  399 

"  I  do  not  envy  her,"  said  Constance  laughing,  "  if 
her  choice  has  fallen  upon  the  old  gentleman  we  met 
with  the  only  time  we  were  at  her  father's  house  last 
whiter,  and  who  was  presented  to  us  as  the  Baron 
Von  GrifFe.  I  remember  on  that  occasion  having 
heard  him  spoken  of,  as  a  person  of  immense  fortune 
but  intolerably  penurious,  with  a  constitution  of  iron 
yet  making  his  infirmities  a  pretext  for  avoiding  the 
duties  and  pleasures  of  society.  A  union  with  such  a 
person,  even  with  all  his  millions,  could  hardly  pro- 
mote the  happiness  of  a  young  lady." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Melville,  smiling,  "  I  see  you  are 
all  jealous  of  Miss  Belmont's  success.  The  Baroness 
Von  GrifFe  will  doubtless  be  the  leader  of  ton  in  the 
aristocratic  financiers,  at  least ;  she  will  be  the  star  of 
the  Chausee  d'Antui.  Her  millions  will  insure  her 
the  position." 

"  Qtfette  les  garde  !  "  said  Evelyn  laughing,  "  we 
are  neither  jealous  nor  envious." 

Thus  flew  on  the  joyous  evening,  and  it  drew  to  a 
close  too  quickly  for  that  happy  and  united  family. 
It  ended,  as  such  days  should  always  end,  in  deep 
thankfulness,  sincerely  felt  and  fervently  expressed  to 
the  author  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LOVE'S    GIFTS. 

AT  an  early  and  rather  unceremonious  hour  one 
morning,  the  young  Comte  de  Beaumanoir  with  his 
beautiful  fiancee^  Beatrice,  had  called  to  be  presented 
by  Constance  to  her  brother  and  sister. 

During  their  visit,  a  tender  little  scene  had  been 
carried  on  aside  between  Constance  and  her  friend, 
relative  to  two  tokens  manifesting  their  sympathy 
with  each  other  in  approaching  events,  and  which 
had  been  exchanged  that  morning ; — the  one  a  veil 
of  exquisite  lace  accompanied  by  a  wreath,  in  which 
orange  blossoms  predominated  over  the  rest  of  the 
flowers  of  which  it  was  composed,  and  the  other  a 
jewelled  bracelet  of  finished  workmanship. 

The  fancy  of  Beatrice  for  sending  the  bridal  veil 
as  her  souvenir  to  her  friend,  had  arisen  from  her  fre- 
quent contemplation  of  the  ingenious  productions  of 
modern  art,  where  the  veil  only  gives  a  more  myste- 
rious beauty  to  the  delicately  chiselled  features  be- 
neath. The  exquisite  bracelet  which  Constance  had 
selected  as  her  gift,  she  naturally  associated  with  the 


LOVE'S   GIFTS.  401 

symmetrical  arm  of  her  friend, — that  arm  which  had 
already  served  an  accomplished  sculptor  for  a  model. 

The  thought  had  been  unpremeditated ;  and  the 
beautiful  gifts  of  equal  value  and  elegance,  received 
at  the  same  instant  by  both  the  friends  from  the  mes- 
sengers who  had  passed  each  other,  occasioned  a 
pleasant  surprise,  and  awakened  fresh  emotions  of  ten- 
derness in  their  young  hearts. 

Reginald  had  already  paid  his  usual  daily  visit, 
and  Constance  remained  in  pleasing  meditation,  her 
arm  resting  on  the  table  near  which  she  was  seated, 
and  scanning  with  interest  and  curiosity  the  Arabic 
characters  embroidered  on  a  scarf  of  delicate  and  sin- 
gular beauty  which  he  had  twined  around  that  arm. 
He  had  told  her  that  the  sorceress  who  could  read 
those  mysterious  characters  had  expressed  a  fervent 
wish  to  see  her ;  and  fearing  some  mistake,  she  had 
requested  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  identify  the 
lady  of  his  love  by  seeing  that  token  on  her  arm. 

Within  the  hour  of  appointment  the  fair  sibyl  ap- 
peared. The  gentle  nun  glided  into  the  room  so 
noiselessly  that  Constance  was  hardly  aware  of  her 
presence,  until  she  approached  her  nearly.  She  paused 
for  a  moment,  and  raised  her  dark  eyes  to  the  face  of 
the  lovely  girl  who  stood  in  blushing  surprise  at  her 
earnest  scrutiny. 

Apparently  the  perusal  of  that  face  and  form 
awakened  emotions  of  sensibility  and  kindness,  for 
tears  stood  in  her  gazelle-like  eyes. 

"Lady!"  she  said  in  a  low  and  musical  voice, 
"  you  will  pardon  my  wish  to  look  on  that  beautiful 
face.  It  is,  I  trust,  the  fair  index  of  a  heart  as  pure 


402  HOME   AND   THE   WORLD. 

and  true  as  that  to  which  it  is  soon  to  be  united. 
Withdrawn  from  the  world,  I  shall  never  cease  to 
pray  for  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  one,  who,  in 
saving  the  being  most  dear  to  me  from  an  ignominious 
death,  and  rescuing  him  from  the  lingering  imprison- 
ment threatened  even  after  his  life  was  preserved,  is 
well  entitled  to  those  fervent  prayers. 

"  Permit  me,"  she  continued,  approaching  more 
nearly  and  presenting  a  small  casket,  "  permit  me  to 
make  an  offering  to  his  bride.  The  jewels  this  casket 
contains  were  part  of  a  noble  heritage,  and  may  well 
adorn  one,  who  is  ennobled  by  the  devotion  of  such  a 
heart  as  that  you  now  may  claim  as  your  own." 

She  pressed  the  hand  of  Constance  to  her  lips  and 
to  her  brow,  and  glided  from  the  room  as  noiselessly 
as  she  had  entered  it. 

Half  an  hour  had  elapsed,  and  Reginald  found 
Constance  seated  at  the  table  where  he  had  left  her, 
the  magical  scarf  still  on  her  arm,  and  the  casket  un- 
opened lying  near  it.  Her  thoughts  had  followed  the 
beautiful  nun,  and  were  far  away  from  the  bridal  gift 
she  had  so  gracefully  presented. 

Aroused  by  the  return  of  Reginald  from  her 
reverie,  she  touched  the  spring  of  the  casket  as  he 
entered.  To  her  surprise  it  contained  a  diamond 
necklace  of  almost  priceless  value. 

"  Oh,  Reginald ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  cannot  keep 
this  splendid  gift  from  one  almost  a  stranger  to  me." 

"  It  will  be  impossible  to  return  it,"  said  Reginald 
with  a  sigh, "  if  it  was  offered  by  the  former  possessor 
of  that  scarf,  and  I  now  suppose  this  was  partly  her 
motive  in  her  request  that  you  should  wear  it  on  your 


LOVE'S   GIFTS.  403 

arm  this  morning.  The  fair  nun  is  already  on  her 
way  to  a  distant  land.  Even  if  it  were  possible  now 
to  seek  her  out,  which  it  is  not,  I  would  not  have  you 
give  a  pang  to  the  noble  spirit  of  Zulema,  by  refusing 
her  heart-offering,  for  all  the  jewels  *of  Golconda. 
Honor  her  and  her  gift  then,  my  own  sweet  bride," 
he  continued,  "  as  you  will,  I  trust,  those  which  you 
will  permit  me  to  add  to  hers." 

The  last  visit  of  the  family  whose  adventures  have 
been  related  in  these  pages,  before  their  return  to 
their  quiet  home,  was  paid  at  the  chateau  of  Neuilly, 
where  the  new  sovereign  held  his  unostentatious 
court. 

They  were  received  with  an  unaffected  and  cordial 
hospitality.  The  queen  and  her  lovely  daughters 
were  seated  around  a  table,  where  books  and  tapestry 
seemed  to  have  been  the  sources  of  their  amusement. 

"  Your  Majesty  will  allow  me  the  privilege  of  ap- 
propriating this  needle,"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  as  the 
queen  laid  down  her  work.  "I  should  hardly  be 
believed,  if  I  were  to  aver  that  I  had  seen  it  in  such 
august  hands." 

The  queen  smiled,  and  placing  the  emblem  of  her 
industry  in  an  envelope,  inscribed  the  words  "  Souve- 
nir de  Neuilly  "  upon  it,  and  gracefully  returned  it  to 
Mrs.  Melville. 

The  hour  of  parting  drew  near.  The  sovereign 
made  his  adieu  as  graciously  as  his  noble  consort. 
"  The  King  of  France,"  he  said,  "  as  he  ought  never 
to  remember  the  injuries  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  so 
assuredly  he  will  never  forget  his  friends." 

The  queen  offered  her  hand  to  say  farewell.    As 


404  HOME  AND  THE  WORLD. 

Constance  raised  that  hand  to  her  lips,  a  warm  tear 
fell  on  it.  The  amiable  lady  looked  at  her  for  a  mo- 
ment, her  own  eyes  filled,  and  she  embraced  the  sweet 
girl  with  maternal  tenderness.  "  Adieu,  my  child  !  " 
she  said.  "  You  were  an  unconscious  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  heaven  for  good  to  us :  the  blessing  of  a 
wife  and  a  mother  will  rest  upon  you !  " 

Before  their  departure  from  the  metropolis  of 
France,  the  lovely  Beatrice  de  Visconti  received  their 
congratulations  as  the  Comtesse  de  Beaumanoir.  The 
parting  between  her  and  her  friend  was  not  without 
tears ;  but  the  promises  they  made  to  continue  a  con- 
stant correspondence,  and  to  meet  again  hi  after  years, 
were  both  faithfully  kept. 

Beatrice  passed  her  happy  existence  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  domestic  duties,  as  well  as  those  of  social  life. 
Her  days  were  divided  between  the  chateau  of  her 
father  on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  and  romantic 
Lago  di  Como,  which  eventually  became  that  of  her- 
self and  her  descendants,  and  her  husband's  residence 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  The  exercise  of  her 
pure  and  youthful  tastes  always  afforded  her  more 
pleasure  in  the  bosom  of  home,  than  she  ever  expe- 
rienced hi  the  world. 

The  friendship  formed  between  Madame  Laval  and 
her  pupils  remained  undiminished,  though  they  were 
so  widely  separated,  and  their  mutual  affection  and 
interest  were  manifested  whenever  an  opportunity 
was  presented  of  renewing  and  strengthening  those 
kind  feelings. 

Antoine  and  his  family  emigrated  to  the  western 
world,  where  his  industry  and  fidelity  met  an  ample 


T       LOVE'S   GIFTS.  405 

recompense.  Even  after  an  abundance  of  worldly 
goods  had  succeeded  a  modest  competency,  he  exer- 
cised his  talent  in  ornamental  gardening,  and  the  evi- 
dences of  his  taste  may  yet  be  seen  in  those  places 
where  he  resided,  before  he  was  established  in  a  home 
of  his  own.  His  children,  trained  in  sound  principles 
and  to  useful  labor,  followed  in  his  footsteps,  and  well 
merited  the  favor  they  found  in  their  adopted  land. 


•it  7 
ir/7< 


CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

CONCLUSION. 

SPRING  in  its  early  freshness  found  the  family  re- 
established at  their  own  loved  and  quiet  home,  and 
amid  "  showers  of  roses,"  Reginald  received  the  hand 
of  his  lovely  bride. 

Mr.  Bloomfield  tied  the  irrevocable  knot  in  the 
handsome  country  church  elsewhere  commemorated, 
and  the  many  kind  friends,  who  obeyed  the  signal  of 
the  bell  that  rung  out  a  cheerful  peal,  assembled  after- 
wards at  Avonmore  to  offer  their  hearty  congratu- 
lations. 

A  bright  and  happy  day  it  was. — Bird-voices  and 
spring  bloom  coming  in  gushing  sweetness  from  with- 
out, and  kind  and  loving  hearts  exchanging  sympathies 
within. 

To  enter  into  the  details  of  that  occasion  would 
be  to  repeat  our  description  of  the  bridal  of  Vivian 
and  Evelyn,  with  only  the  difference  between  city 
and  country  life.  Mr.  Walsingham,  if  he  did  not,  as 
on  the  former  occasion,  give  away  the  bride,  bestowed 
on  her  a  kiss  and  a  blessing  almost  paternal.  The 
white-robed  nymphs  were  as  lovely, — the  wedding 
presents  and  wedding-cake  as  abundant. 


CONCLUSION.  407 

It  may  be  a  circumstance  worthy  of  remark  that 
there  was  some  sweet  music  on  the  occasion,  and  that 
Mrs.  Fowler  and  Miss  Kezia  did  not  favor  the  com- 
pany with  a  song.  The  doctor  resigned  his  preten- 
sions to  art  and  the  modern  tongues,  at  least  when 
any  of  Mr.  Melville's  family  were  present,  and  re- 
turned to  his  old  friends,  the  ancients,  with  whom 
he  was  more  at  home. 

Uncle  Tom  offered  an  immense  nosegay  of  his 
choicest  flowers  to  "  Miss  Constance  "  on  her  wedding- 
day,  and  as  she  graciously  and  gracefully  received 
them,  he  declared,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  "  she 
looked  jest  like  an  angel,  and  moved  about  like  a 
weepin'  willow." 

Mammy  became  an  oracle.  She  always  spoke  of 
the  toilette  whenever  the  subject  of  dress  was  alluded 
to,  and  was  consulted  on  all  matters  relative  to  that 
important  science.  With  her,  a  milliner  was  never 
mentioned  but  as  a  modiste,  and  a  mantuamaker  as  a 
couturiere.  "  When  I  was  in  Paris,"  always  silenced 
any  differences  of  opinion  in  matters  of  taste  between 
her  and  her  numerous  friends  and  satellites.  A  slight 
feud  arose  between  herself  and  Uncle  Tom,  but  one 
which  was  easily  accommodated.  He  was  one  day 
seriously  offended  because  he  averred  that  mammy 
had  called  him  a  jardiniere,  and  he  did  not  consider 
it  respectful  to  him  to  call  him  names.  But  when  as- 
sured that  a  jardiniere  only  signifies  a  fanciful  little 
table  designed  to  contain  flowers,  he  became  recon- 
ciled to  the  appellation,  which,  in  defiance  of  gram- 
matical rules,  was  constantly  applied  to  him. 

It  will  be  naturally  asked  if  this  family  were  as 


408  HOME  AND  THE  WOELD. 

happy  at  home,  as  they  had  been  in  the  world  ?  The 
reader  may  answer  the  question,  having  seen  both 
sides  of  the  picture.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that 
they  lived  in  perfect  seclusion,  after  the  events  occu- 
pied by  the  short  period  of  their  lives  recorded  in 
these  pages.  They  went  sometimes  into  the  world, 
but  it  was  to  enhance  the  beauty  and  value  of  home, 
where  their  days  were  passed  "  amid  grass,  and  flow- 
ers, and  charitable  deeds." 

Years  have  flown  by,  and  groups  of  beautiful  chil- 
dren are  seen  sporting  beneath  the  shades  of  the  old 
home.  Time  passes  on,  and  the  golden  links  of  that 
circle  are  still  unbroken.  Time  with  them  is  not  the 
common  enemy,  whom  they  unite  hi  a  conspiracy  to 
destroy,  nor  do  they  seek  to  abridge  their  days  and 
moments,  that  those  days  and  moments  may  glide  by 
unperceived.  They  do  not  paint  him  with  scythe  and 
hour-glass,  sprinkling  hoar  frost  on  their  heads,  or  lay- 
ing icy  fingers  on  their  hearts.  They  love  rather  to 
represent  him  on  a  fleecy  cloud,  surrounded  by  the  rosy 
hours,  while  the  early  morning  scatters  dewy  flowers 
in  nis  path. 

And  so  they  move  on  together,  loving  and  loved, 
in  faith  and  in  hope  that  they  will  thus  and  for  ever 
be  united,  when  "  time  shall  be  no  longer." 


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